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SISTER   CARRIE 


Sister  Carrie 

By 

Theodore  Dreiser 


NEW  YORK 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. 
1900 


Copyright,  1900,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  CO. 


TO  MY  FRIEND 

ARTHUR  HENRY 

WHOSE  STEADFAST  IDEALS  AND  SERENE 
DEVOTION  TO  TRUTH  AND  BEAUTY 
HAVE  SERVED  TO  LIGHTEN  THE  METHOD 
AND  STRENGTHEN  THE  PURPOSE  OF 
THIS   VOLUME. 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2012  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


http://archive.org/details/sistercarrie01drei 


SISTER    CARRIE 


SISTER   CARRIE 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  MAGNET  ATTRACTING:   A   WAIF  AMID   FORCES 

When  Caroline  Meeber  boarded  the  afternoon  train 
for  Chicago,  her  total  outfit  consisted  of  a  small  trunk,  a 
cheap  imitation  alligator-skin  satchel,  a  small  lunch  in  a 
paper  box,  and  a  yellow  leather  snap  purse,  containing 
her  ticket,  a  scrap  of  paper  with  her  sister's  address  in 
Van  Buren  Street,  and  four  dollars  in  money.  It  was  in 
August,  1889.  She  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  bright, 
timid,  and  full  of  the  illusions  of  ignorance  and  youth. 
Whatever  touch  of  regret  at  parting  characterised  her 
thoughts,  it  was  certainly  not  for  advantages  now  being 
given  up.  A  gush  of  tears  at  her  mother's  farewell  kiss, 
a  touch  in  her  throat  when  the  cars  clacked  by  the  flour 
mill  where  her  father  worked  by  the  day,  a  pathetic  sigh 
as  the  familiar  green  environs  of  the  village  passed  in 
review,  and  the  threads  Which  bound  her  so  lightly  to 
girlhood  and  home  were  irretrievably  broken. 

To  be  sure  there  was  always  the  next  station,  where  one 
might  descend  and  return.  There  was  the  great  city, 
bound  more  closely  by  these  very  trains  which  came  up 
daily.  Columbia  City  was  not  so  very  far  away,  even 
once  she  was  in  Chicago.  What,  pray,  is  a  few  hours — 
a  few  hundred  miles?  She  looked  at  the  little  slip  bear- 
ing her  sister's  address  and  wondered.     She  gazed  at  the 


2  SISTER  CARRIE 

green  landscape,  now  passing  in  swift  review,  until  her 
swifter  thoughts  replaced  its  impression  with  vague  con- 
jectures of  what  Chicago  might  be. 

When  a  girl  leaves  her  home  at  eighteen,  she  does  one 
of  two  things.  Either  she  falls  into  saving  hands  and 
becomes  better,  or  she  rapidly  assumes  the  cosmopolitan 
standard  of  virtue  and  becomes  worse.  Of  an  inter- 
mediate balance,  under  the  circumstances,  there  is  no 
possibility.  The  city  has  its  cunning  wiles,  no  less  than 
the  infinitely  smaller  and  more  human  tempter.  There 
are  large  forces  which  allure  with  all  the  soulfulness  of 
expression  possible  in  the  most  cultured  human.  The 
gleam  of  a  thousand  lights  is  often  as  effective  as  the  per- 
suasive light  in  a  wooing  and  fascinating  eye.  Half  the 
undoing  of  the  unsophisticated  and  natural  mind  is  ac- 
complished by  forces  wholly  superhuman.  A  blare  of 
sound,  a  roar  of  life,  a  vast  array  of  human  hives,  appeal 
to  the  astonished  senses  in  equivocal  terms.  Without  a 
counsellor  at  hand  to  whisper  cautious  interpretations, 
What  falsehoods  may  not  these  things  breathe  into  the 
unguarded  ear!  Unrecognised  for  what  they  are,  their 
beauty,  like  music,  too  often  relaxes,  then  weakens,  then 
perverts  the  simpler  human  perceptions. 

Caroline,  or  Sister  Carrie,  as  she  had  been  half  affec- 
tionately termed  by  the  family,  was  possessed  of  a  mind 
rudimentary  in  its  power  of  observation  and  analysis. 
Self-interest  with  her  was  high,  but  not  strong.  It  was, 
nevertheless,  her  guiding  characteristic.  Warm  with  the 
fancies  of  youth,  pretty  with  the  insipid  prettiness  of  the 
formative  period,  possessed  of  a  figure  promising  eventual 
shapeliness  and  an  eye  alight  with  certain  native  intelli- 
gence, she  was  a  fair  example  of  the  middle  American 
class — two  generations  removed  from  the  emigrant. 
Books  were  beyond  her  interest — knowledge  a  sealed 
book.     In  the  intuitive  graces  she  was  still  crude.     She 


SISTER   CARRIE  3 

could  scarcely  toss  her  head  gracefully.  Her  hands  were 
almost  ineffectual.  The  feet,  though  small,  were  set 
flatly.  And  yet  she  was  interested  in  her  charms,  quick 
to  understand  the  keener  pleasures  of  life,  ambitious  to 
gain  in  material  things.  A  half-equipped  little  knight  she 
was,  venturing  to  reconnoitre  the  mysterious  city  and 
dreaming  wild  dreams  of  some  vague,  far-off  supremacy, 
which  should  make  it  prey  and  subject — the  proper  peni- 
tent, grovelling  at  a  woman's  slipper. 

"  That,"  said  a  voice  in  her  ear,  "  is  one  of  the  prettiest 
little  resorts  in  Wisconsin." 

"  Is  it?  "  she  answered  nervously. 

The  train  was  just  pulling  out  of  Waukesha.  For  some 
time  she  had  been  conscious  of  a  man  behind.  She  felt 
him  observing  her  mass  of  hair.  He  had  been  fidgetting, 
and  with  natural  intuition  she  felt  a  certain  interest  grow- 
ing in  that  quarter.  Her  maidenly  reserve,  and  a  certain 
sense  of  what  was  conventional  under  the  circumstances, 
called  her  to  forestall  and  deny  this  familiarity,  but  the 
daring  and  magnetism  of  the  individual,  born  of  past  ex- 
periences and  triumphs,  prevailed.     She  answered. 

He  leaned  forward  to  put  his  elbows  upon  the  back  of 
her  seat  and  proceeded  to  make  himself  volubly  agreeable. 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  great  resort  for  Chicago  people.  The 
hotels  are  swell.  You  are  not  familiar  with  this  part  of 
the  country,  are  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am,"  answered  Carrie.  "  That  is,  I  live  at 
Columbia  City.    I  have  never  been  through  here,  though." 

"And  so  this  is  your  first  visit  to  Chicago,"  he  observed. 

All  the  time  she  was  conscious  of  certain  features  out 
of  the  side  of  her  eye.  Flush,  colourful  cheeks,  a  light 
moustache,  a  grey  fedora  hat.  She  now  turned  and  looked 
upon  him  in  full,  the  instincts  of  self-protection  and  co- 
quetry mingling  confusedly  in  her  brain. 

"  I  didn't  say  that,"  she  said. 


4  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  in  a  very  pleasing  way  and  with 
an  assumed  air  of  mistake,  "  I  thought  you  did." 

Here  was  a  type  of  the  travelling  canvasser  for  a  manu- 
facturing house — a  class  which  at  that  time  was  first 
being  dubbed  by  the  slang  of  the  day  "  drummers."  He 
came  within  the  meaning  of  a  still  newer  term,  which  had 
sprung  into  general  use  among  Americans  in  1880,  and 
which  concisely  expressed  the  thought  of  one  whose  dress 
or  manners  are  calculated  to  elicit  the  admiration  of  sus- 
ceptible young  women — a  "  masher."  His  suit  was  of  a 
striped  and  crossed  pattern  of  brown  wool,  new  at  that 
time,  but  since  become  familiar  as  a  business  suit.  The 
low  crotch  of  the  vest  revealed  a  stiff  shirt  bosom  of  white 
and  pink  stripes.  From  his  coat  sleeves  protruded  a  pair 
of  linen  cuffs  of  the  same  pattern,  fastened  with  large, 
gold  plate  buttons,  set  with  the  common  yellow  agates 
known  as  "  cat's-eyes."  His  fingers  bore  several  rings — 
one,  the  ever-enduring  heavy  seal — and  from  his  vest 
dangled  a  neat  gold  watch  chain,  from  which  was  sus- 
pended the  secret  insignia  of  the  Order  of  Elks.  The 
whole  suit  was  rather  tight-fitting,  and  was  finished  off 
with  heavy-soled  tan  shoes,  highly  polished,  and  the  grey 
fedora  hat.  He  was,  for  the  order  of  intellect  represented, 
attractive,  and  whatever  he  had  to  recommend  him,  you 
may  be  sure  was  not  lost  upon  Carrie,  in  this,  her  first 
glance. 

Lest  this  order  of  individual  should  permanently  pass, 
let  me  put  down  some  of  the  most  striking  characteristics 
of  his  most  successful  manner  and  method.  Good  clothes, 
of  course,  were  the  first  essential,  the  things  without 
which  he  was  nothing.  A  strong  physical  nature,  actu- 
ated by  a  keen  desire  for  the  feminine,  was  the  next.  A 
mind  free  of  any  consideration  of  the  problems  or 
forces  of  the  world  and  actuated  not  by  greed,  but  an 
insatiable  love  of  variable  pleasure.     His  method  was 


SISTER   CARRIE  5 

always  simple.  Its  principal  element  was  daring,  backed, 
of  course,  by  an  intense  desire  and  admiration  for  the 
sex.  Let  him  meet  with  a  young  woman  twice  and 
he  would  straighten  her  necktie  for  her  and  perhaps  ad- 
dress her  by  her  first  name.  In  the  great  department 
stores  he  was  at  his  ease.  If  he  caught  the  attention  of 
some  young  woman  while  waiting  for  the  cash  boy  to 
come  back  with  his  change,  he  would  find  out  her  name, 
her  favourite  flower,  where  a  note  would  reach  her,  and 
perhaps  pursue  the  delicate  task  of  friendship  until  it 
proved  unpromising,  when  it  would  be  relinquished.  He 
would  do  very  well  with  more  pretentious  women,  though 
the  burden  of  expense  was  a  slight  deterrent.  Upon  en- 
tering a  parlour  car,  for  instance,  he  would  select  a  chair 
next  to  the  most  promising  bit  of  femininity  and  soon 
enquire  if  she  cared  to  have  the  shade  lowered.  Before 
the  train  cleared  the  yards  he  would  have  the  porter  bring 
her  a  footstool.  At  the  next  lull  in  his  conversational 
progress  he  would  find  her  something  to  read,  and  from 
then  on,  by  dint  of  compliment  gently  insinuated,  per- 
sonal narrative,  exaggeration  and  service,  he  would  win 
her  tolerance,  and,  mayhap,  regard. 

A  woman  should  some  day  write  the  complete  philos- 
ophy of  clothes.  No  matter  how  young,  it  is  one  of  the 
things  she  wholly  comprehends.  There  is  an  indescrib- 
ably faint  line  in  the  matter  of  man's  apparel  which  some- 
how divides  for  her  those  who  are  worth  glancing  at 
and  those  who  are  not.  Once  an  individual  has  passed 
this  faint  line  on  the  way  downward  he  will  get  no  glance 
from  her.  There  is  another  line  at;  which  the  dress  of  a 
man  will  cause  her  to  study  her  own.  This  line  the  indi- 
vidual at  her  elbow  now  marked  for  Carrie.  She  became 
conscious  of  an  inequality.  Her  own  plain  blue  dress, 
with  its  black  cotton  tape  trimmings,  now  seemed  to  her 
shabby.     She  felt  the  worn  state  of  her  shoes. 


6  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Let's  see,"  he  went  on,  "  I  know  quite  a  number  of 
people  in  your  town.  Morgenroth  the  clothier  and  Gib- 
son the  dry  goods  man." 

"  Oh,  do  you?  "  she  interrupted,  aroused  by  memories 
of  longings  their  s'how  windows  had  cost  her. 

At  last  he  had  a  clew  to  her  interest,  and  followed  it 
deftly.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had  come  about  into  her 
seat.  He  talked  of  sales  of  clothing,  his  travels,  Chicago, 
and  the  amusements  of  that  city. 

"  If  you  are  going  there,  you  will  enjoy  it  immensely. 
Have  you  relatives?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  visit  my  sister,"  she  explained. 

"  You  want  to  see  Lincoln  Park,"  he  said,  "  and  Michi- 
gan Boulevard.  They  are  putting  up  great  buildings 
there.  It's  a  second  New  York — great.  So  much  to  see 
— theatres,  crowds,  fine  houses — oh,  you'll  like  that." 

There  was  a  little  ache  in  her  fancy  of  all  he  described. 
Her  insignificance  in  the  presence  of  so  much  magnifi- 
cence faintly  affected  her.  She  realised  that  hers  was  not 
to  be  a  round  of  pleasure,  and  yet  there  was  something 
promising  in  all  the  material  prospect  he  set  forth.  There 
was  something  satisfactory  in  the  attention  of  this  indi- 
vidual with  his  good  clothes.  She  could  not  help  smiling 
as  he  told  her  of  some  popular  actress  of  whom  she  re- 
minded him.  She  was  not  silly,  and  yet  attention  of  this 
sort  had  its  weight. 

"  You  will  be  in  Chicago  some  little  time,  won't  you  ?  " 
he  observed  at  one  turn  of  the  now  easy  conversation. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie  vaguely — a  flash  vision  of 
the  possibility  of  her  not  securing  employment  rising  in 
her  mind. 

"Several  weeks,  anyhow,"  he  said,  looking  steadily  into 
her  eyes. 

There  was  much  more  passing  now  than  the  mere 
words  indicated.     He  recognised  the  indescribable  thing 


SISTER   CARRIE  7 

that  made  up  for  fascination  and  beauty  in  her.  She 
realised  that  she  was  of  interest  to  him  from  the  one 
standpoint  which  a  woman  both  delights  in  and  fears. 
Her  manner  was  simple,  though  for  the  very  reason  that 
she  had  not  yet  learned  the  many  little  affectations  with 
which  women  conceal  their  true  feelings.  Some  things 
she  did  appeared  bold.  A  clever  companion — had  she 
ever  had  one — would  have  warned  her  never  to  look  a 
man  in  the  eyes  so  steadily. 

"  Why  do  you  ask?  "  she  said. 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  be  there  several  weeks.  I'm  going 
to  study  stock  at  our  place  and  get  new  samples.  I  might 
show  you  'round." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  can  or  not.  I  mean  I  don't 
know  whether  I  can.  I  shall  be  living  with  my  sister, 
and " 

"  Well,  if  she  minds,  we'll  fix  that."  He  took  out  his 
pencil  and  a  little  pocket  note-book  as  if  it  were  all  settled. 
"  What  is  your  address  there?  " 

She  fumbled  her  purse  which  contained  the  address 
slip. 

He  reached  down  in  his  hip  pocket  and  took  out  a  fat 
purse.  It  was  filled  with  slips  of  paper,  some  mileage 
books,  a  roll  of  greenbacks.  It  impressed  her  deeply. 
Such  a  purse  had  never  been  carried  by  any  one  attentive 
to  her.  Indeed,  an  experienced  traveller,  a  brisk  man  of 
the  world,  had  never  come  within  such  close  range  before. 
The  purse,  the  shiny  tan  shoes,  the  smart  new  suit,  and 
the  air  with  which  he  did  things,  built  up  for  her  a  dim 
world  of  fortune,  of  which  he  was  the  centre.  It  disposed 
her  pleasantly  toward  all  he  might  do. 

He  took  out  a  neat  business  card,  on  which  was  en- 
graved Bartlett,  Caryoe  &  Company,  and  down  in  the  left- 
hand  corner,  Chas.  H.  Drouet. 

"  That's  me,"  he  said,  putting  the  card  in  her  hand  and 


8  SISTER  CARRIE 

touching  his  name.  "  It's  pronounced  Drew-eh.  Our 
family  was  French,  on  my  father's  side." 

She  looked  at  it  while  he  put  up  his  purse.  Then  he  got 
out  a  letter  from  a  bunch  in  his  coat  pocket.  "  This  is  the 
house  I  travel  for,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to  a  picture  on 
it,  "  corner  of  State  and  Lake."  There  was  pride  in  his 
voice.  He  felt  that  it  was  something  to  be  connected 
with  such  a  place,  and  he  made  her  feel  that  way. 

"What  is  your  address?"  he  began  again,  fixing  his 
pencil  to  write. 

She  looked  at  his  hand. 

"  Carrie  Meeber,"  she  said  slowly.  "  Three  hundred 
and  fifty-four  West  Van  Buren  Street,  care  S.  C.  Hanson." 

He  wrote  it  carefully  down  and  got  out  the  purse  again. 
"You'll  be  at  home  if  I  come  around  Monday  night?" 
he  said. 

"  I  think  so,"  she  answered. 

How  true  it  is  that  words  are  but  the  vague  shadows  of 
the  volumes  we  mean.  Little  audible  links,  they  are, 
chaining  together  great  inaudible  feelings  and  purposes. 
Here  were  these  two,  bandying  little  phrases,  drawing 
purses,  looking  at  cards,  and  both  unconscious  of  how  in- 
articulate all  their  real  feelings  were.  Neither  was  wise 
enough  to  be  sure  of  the  working  of  the  mind  of  the 
other.  He  could  not  tell  how  his  luring  succeeded.  She 
could  not  realise  that  she  was  drifting,  until  he  secured 
her  address.  Now  she  felt  that  she  had  yielded  some- 
thing— he,  that  he  had  gained  a  victory.  Already  they 
felt  that  they  were  somehow  associated.  Already  he  took 
control  in  directing  the  conversation.  His  words  were 
easy.     Her  manner  was  relaxed. 

They  were  nearing  Chicago.  Signs  were  everywhere 
numerous.  Trains  flashed  by  them.  Across  wide 
stretches  of  flat,  open  prairie  they  could  see  lines  of  tele- 
graph poles  stalking  across  the  fields  toward  the  great 


SISTER   CARRIE  9 

city.  Far  away  were  indications  of  suburban  towns,  some 
big  smoke-stacks  towering  high  in  the  air. 

Frequently  there  were  two-story  frame  houses  stand- 
ing out  in  the  open  fields,  without  fence  or  trees,  lone  out- 
posts of  the  approaching  army  of  homes. 

To  the  child,  the  genius  with  imagination,  or  the  wholly 
untravelled,  the  approach  to  a  great  city  for  the  first  time 
is  a  wonderful  thing.  Particularly  if  it  be  evening — that 
mystic  period  between  the  glare  and  gloom  of  the  world 
when  life  is  changing  from  one  sphere  or  condition  to  an- 
other. Ah,  the  promise  of  the  night.  What  does  it  not 
hold  for  the  weary!  What  old  illusion  of  hope  is  not  here 
forever  repeated!  Says  the  soul  of  the  toiler  to  itself,  "  I 
shall  soon  be  free.  I  shall  be  in  the  ways  and  the  hosts 
of  the  merry.  The  streets,  the  lamps,  the  lighted  cham- 
ber set  for  dining,  are  for  me.  The  theatre,  the  halls,  the 
parties,  the  ways  of  rest  and  the  paths  of  song — these  are 
mine  in  the  night."  Though  all  humanity  be  still  en- 
closed in  the  shops,  the  thrill  runs  abroad.  It  is  in  the 
air.  The  dullest  feel  something  which  they  may  not  al- 
ways express  or  describe.  It  is  the  lifting  of  the  burden 
of  toil. 

Sister  Carrie  gazed  out  of  the  window.  Her  com- 
panion, affected  by  her  wonder,  so  contagious  are  all 
things,  felt  anew  some  interest  in  the  city  and  pointed  out 
its  marvels. 

"  This  is  Northwest  Chicago,"  said  Drouet.  "  This  is 
the  Chicago  River,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  little  muddy 
creek,  crowded  with  the  huge  masted  wanderers  from  far- 
off  waters  nosing  the  black-posted  banks.  With  a  puff, 
a  clang,  and  a  clatter  of  rails  it  was  gone.  "  Chicago  is 
getting  to  be  a  great  town,"  he  went  on.  "  It's  a  wonder. 
You'll  find  lots  to  see  here." 

She  did  not  hear  this  very  well.  Her  heart  was  troubled 
by  a  kind  of  terror.     The  fact  that  she  was  alone,  away 


IO  SISTER  CARRIE 

from  home,  rushing  into  a  great  sea  of  life  and  endeavour, 
began  to  tell.  She  could  not  help  but  feel  a  little  choked 
for  breath — a  little  sick  as  her  heart  beat  so  fast.  She  half 
closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to  think  it  was  nothing,  that 
Columbia  City  was  only  a  little  way  off. 

"  Chicago!  Chicago!  "  called  the  brakeman,  slamming 
open  the  door.  They  were  rushing  into  a  more  crowded 
yard,  alive  with  the  clatter  and  clang  of  life.  She  began 
to  gather  up  her  poor  little  grip  and  closed  her  hand  firmly 
upon  her  purse.  Drouet  arose,  kicked  his  legs  to 
straighten  his  trousers,  and  seized  his  clean  yellow  grip. 

"  I  suppose  your  people  will  be  here  to  meet  you?  "  he 
said.     "  Let  me  carry  your  grip." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't.  I'd 
rather  you  wouldn't  be  with  me  when  I  meet  my  sister." 

"  All  right,"  he  said  in  all  kindness.  "  I'll  be  near, 
though,  in  case  she  isn't  here,  and  take  you  out  there 
safely." 

"  You're  so  kind,"  said  Carrie,  feeling  the  goodness  of 
such  attention  in  her  strange  situation. 

"  Chicago !  "  called  the  brakeman,  drawing  the  word 
out  long.  They  were  under  a  great  shadowy  train  shed, 
where  the  lamps  were  already  beginning  to  shine  out,  with 
passenger  cars  all  about  and  the  train  moving  at  a  snail's 
pace.  The  people  in  the  car  were  all  up  and  crowding 
about  the  door. 

"  Well,  here  we  are,"  said  Drouet,  leading  the  way  to 
the  door.     "  Good-bye,  till  I  see  you  Monday." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  answered,  taking  his  proffered 
hand. 

"  Remember,  I'll  be  looking  till  you  find  your  sister." 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes. 

They  filed  out,  and  he  affected  to  take  no  notice  of  her. 
A  lean-faced,  rather  commonplace  woman  recognised 
Carrie  on  the  platform  and  hurried  forward. 


SISTER   CARRIE  II 

"  Why,  Sister  Carrie!  "  she  began,  and  there  was  a  per- 
functory embrace  of  welcome. 

Carrie  realised  the  change  of  affectional  atmosphere 
at  once.  Amid  all  the  maze,  uproar,  and  novelty  she  felt 
cold  reality  taking  her  by  the  hand.  No  world  of  light 
and  merriment.  No  round  of  amusement.  Her  sister 
carried  with  her  most  of  the  grimness  of  shift  and  toil. 

"Why,  how  are  all  the  folks  at  home?"  she  began; 
"  how  is  father,  and  mother?  " 

Carrie  answered,  but  was  looking  away.  Down  the 
aisle,  toward  the  gate  leading  into  the  waiting-room  and 
the  street,  stood  Drouet.  He  was  looking  back.  When 
he  saw  that  she  saw  him  and  was  safe  with  her  sister  he 
turned  to  go,  sending  back  the  shadow  of  a  smile.  Only 
Carrie  saw  it.  She  felt  something  lost  to  her  when  he 
moved  away.  When  he  disappeared  she  felt  his  absence 
thoroughly.  With  her  sister  she  was  much  alone,  a  lone 
figure  in  a  tossing,  thoughtless  sea. 


CHAPTER   II 

WHAT    POVERTY    THREATENED  :    OF    GRANITE    AND    BRASS 

Minnie's  flat,  as  the  one-floor  resident  apartments  were 
then  being  called,  was  in  a  part  of  West  Van  Buren  Street 
inhabited  by  families  of  labourers  and  clerks,  men  who 
had  come,  and  were  still  coming,  with  the  rush  of  popu- 
lation pouring  in  at  the  rate  of  50,000  a  year.  It  was  on 
the  third  floor,  the  front  windows  looking  down  into  the 
street,  where,  at  night,  the  lights  of  grocery  stores  were 
shining  and  children  were  playing.  To  Carrie,  the  sound 
of  the  little  bells  upon  the  horse-cars,  as  they  tinkled  in 
and  out  of  hearing,  was  as  pleasing  as  it  was  novel.  She 
gazed  into  the  lighted  street  when  Minnie  brought  her 
into  the  front  room,  and  wondered  at  the  sounds,  the 
movement,  the  murmur  of  the  vast  city  which  stretched 
for  miles  and  miles  in  every  direction. 

Mrs.  Hanson,  after  the  first  greetings  were  over,  gave 
Carrie  the  baby  and  proceeded  to  get  supper.  Her  hus- 
band asked  a  few  questions  and  sat  down  to  read  the 
evening  paper.  He  was  a  silent  man,  American  born,  of 
a  Swede  father,  and  now  employed  as  a  cleaner  of  refrig- 
erator cars  at  the  stock-yards.  To  him  the  presence  or 
absence  of  his  wife's  sister  was  a  matter  of  indifference. 
Her  personal  appearance  did  not  affect  him  one  way  or 
the  other.  His  one  observation  to  the  point  was  con- 
cerning the  chances  of  work  in  Chicago. 

"  It's  a  big  place,"  he  said.  "  You  can  get  in  some- 
where in  a  few  days.     Everybody  does." 


SISTER  CARRIE 


13 


It  had  been  tacitly  understood  beforehand  that  she  was 
to  get  work  and  pay  her  board.  He  was  of  a  clean,  sav- 
ing- disposition,  and  had  already  paid  a  number  of  monthly 
instalments  on  two  lots  far  out  on  the  West  Side.  His 
ambition  was  some  day  to  build  a  house  on  them. 

In  the  interval  which  marked  the  preparation  of  the 
meal  Carrie  found  time  to  study  the  flat.  She  had  some 
slight  gift  of  observation  and  that  sense,  so  rich  in  every 
woman — intuition. 

She  felt  the"  drag  of  a  lean  and  narrow  life.  The  walls 
of  the  rooms  were  discordantly  papered.  The  floors  were 
covered  with  matting  and  the  hall  laid  with  a  thin  rag 
carpet.  One  could  see  that  the  furniture  was  of  that  poor, 
hurriedly  patched  together  quality  sold  by  the  instalment 
houses. 

She  sat  with  Minnie,  in  the  kitchen,  holding  the  baby 
until  it  began  to  cry.  Then  she  walked  and  sang  to  it, 
until  Hanson,  disturbed  in  his  reading,  came  and  took  it. 
A  pleasant  side  to  his  nature  came  out  here.  He  was 
patient.  One  could  see  that  he  was  very  much  wrapped 
up  in  his  offspring. 

"  Now,  now,"  he  said,  walking.  "  There,  there,"  and 
there  was  a  certain  Swedish  accent  noticeable  in  his  voice. 

"You'll  want  to  see  the  city  first,  won't  you?"  said 
Minnie,  when  they  were  eating.  "  Well,  we'll  go  out 
Sunday  and  see  Lincoln  Park." 

Carrie  noticed  that  Hanson  had  said  nothing  to  this. 
He  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something  else. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I'll  look  around  to-morrow. 
I've  got  Friday  and  Saturday,  and  it  won't  be  any  trouble. 
Which  way  is  the  business  part  ?  " 

Minnie  began  to  explain,  but  her  husband  took  this 
part  of  the  conversation  to  himself. 

"  It's  that  way,"  he  said,  pointing  east.  "  That's  east." 
Then  he  went  off  into  the  longest  speech  he  had  yet  in- 


14  SISTER  CARRIE 

dulged  in,  concerning  the  lay  of  Chicago.  "  You'd  bet- 
ter look  in  those  big  manufacturing  houses  along  Frank- 
lin Street  and  just  the  other  side  of  the  river,"  he  con- 
cluded. "  Lots  of  girls  work  there.  You  could  get  home 
easy,  too.     It  isn't  very  far." 

Carrie  nodded  and  asked  her  sister  about  the  neigh- 
bourhood. The  latter  talked  in  a  subdued  tone,  telling 
the  little  she  knew  about  it,  while  Hanson  concerned  him- 
self with  the  baby.  Finally  he  jumped  up  and  handed  the 
child  to  his  wife. 

"  I've  got  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning,  so  I'll  go  to 
bed,"  and  off  he  went,  disappearing  into  the  dark  little 
bedroom  off  the  hall,  for  the  night. 

"  He  works  way  down  at  the  stock-yards,"  explained 
Minnie,  "  so  he's  got  to  get  up  at  half-past  five." 

"What  time  do  you  get  up  to  get  breakfast?"  asked 
Carrie. 

"  At  about  twenty  minutes  of  five." 

Together  they  finished  the  labour  of  the  day,  Carrie 
washing  the  dishes  while  Minnie  undressed  the  baby  and 
put  it  to  bed.  Minnie's  manner  was  one  of  trained  in- 
dustry, and  Carrie  could  see  that  it  was  a  steady  round  of 
toil  with  her. 

She  began  to  see  that  her  relations  with  Drouet  would 
have  to  be  abandoned.  He  could  not  come  here.  She 
read  from  the  manner  of  Hanson,  in  the  subdued  air  of 
Minnie,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  flat,  a 
settled  opposition  to  anything  save  a  conservative  round 
of  toil.  If  Hanson  sat  every  evening  in  the  front  room 
and  read  his  paper,  if  he  went  to  bed  at  nine,  and  Minnie 
a  little  later,  what  would  they  expect  of  her?  She  saw 
that  she  would  first  need  to  get  work  and  establish  herself 
on  a  paying  basis  before  she  could  think  of  having  com- 
pany of  any  sort.  Her  little  flirtation  with  Drouet  seemed 
now  an  extraordinary  thing. 


SISTER   CARRIE  1 5 

"  No,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  can't  come  here." 

She  asked  Minnie  for  ink  and  paper,  which  were  upon 
the  mantel  in  the  dining-room,  and  when  the  latter  had 
gone  to  bed  at  ten,  got  out  Drouet's  card  and  wrote  him. 

"  I  cannot  have  you  call  on  me  here.  You  will  have  to 
wait  until  you  hear  from  me  again.  My  sister's  place  is 
so  small." 

She  troubled  herself  over  what  else  to  put  in  the  letter. 
She  wanted  to  make  some  reference  to  their  relations 
upon  the  train,  but  was  too  timid.  She  concluded  by 
thanking  him  for  his  kindness  in  a  crude  way,  then  puz- 
zled over  the  formality  of  signing  her  name,  and  finally 
decided  upon  the  severe,  winding  up  with  a  "  Very  truly," 
which  she  subsequently  changed  to  "  Sincerely."  She 
sealed  and  addressed  the  letter,  and  going  in  the  front 
room,  the  alcove  of  which  contained  her  bed,  drew  the 
one  small  rocking-chair  up  to  the  open  window,  and  sat 
looking  out  upon  the  night  and  streets  in  silent  wonder. 
Finally,  wearied  by  her  own  reflections,  she  began  to 
grow  dull  in  her  chair,  and  feeling  the  need  of  sleep,  ar- 
ranged her  clothing  for  the  night  and  went  to  bed. 

When  she  awoke  at  eight  the  next  morning,  Hanson 
had  gone.  Her  sister  was  busy  in  the  dining-room,  which 
was  also  the  sitting-room,  sewing.  She  worked,  after 
dressing,  to  arrange  a  little  breakfast  for  herself,  and  then 
advised  with  Minnie  as  to  which  way  to  look.  The  latter 
had  changed  considerably  since  Carrie  had  seen  her.  She 
was  now  a  thin,  though  rugged,  woman  of  twenty-seven, 
with  ideas  of  life  coloured  by  her  husband's,  and  fast  hard- 
ening into  narrower  conceptions  of  pleasure  and  duty  than 
had  ever  been  hers  in  a  thoroughly  circumscribed  youth. 
She  had  invited  Carrie,  not  because  she  longed  for  her 
presence,  but  because  the  latter  was  dissatisfied  at  home, 
and  could  probably  get  work  and  pay  her  board  here. 
She  was  pleased  to  see  her  in  a  way,  but  reflected  her  hus- 


1 6  SISTER  CARRIE 

band's  point  of  view  in  the  matter  of  work.  Anything 
was  good  enough  so  long  as  it  paid — say,  five  dollars  a 
week  to  begin  with.  A  shop  girl  was  the  destiny  pre- 
figured for  the  newcomer.  She  would  get  in  one  of  the 
great  shops  and  do  well  enough  until — well,  until  some- 
thing happened.  Neither  of  them  knew  exactly  what. 
They  did  not  figure  on  promotion.  They  did  not  exactly 
count  on  marriage.  Things  would  go  on,  though,  in  a 
dim  kind  of  way  until  the  better  thing  would  eventuate, 
and  Carrie  would  be  rewarded  for  coming  and  toiling  in 
the  city.  It  was  under  such  auspicious  circumstances 
that  she  started  out  this  morning  to  look  for  work. 

Before  following  her  in  her  round  of  seeking,  let  us 
look  at  the  sphere  in  which  her  future  was  to  lie.  In  1889 
Chicago  had  the  peculiar  qualifications  of  growth  which 
made  such  adventuresome  pilgrimages  even  on  the  part 
of  young  girls  plausible.  Its  many  and  growing  com- 
mercial opportunities  gave  it  widespread  fame,  which 
made  of  it  a  giant  magnet,  drawing  to  itself,  from  all  quar- 
ters, the  hopeful  and  the  hopeless — those  who  had  their 
fortune  yet  to  make  and  those  whose  fortunes  and  affairs 
had  reached  a  disastrous  climax  elsewhere.  It  was  a  city 
of  over  500,000,  with  the  ambition,  the  daring,  the  activity 
of  a  metropolis  of  a  million.  Its  streets  and  houses  were 
already  scattered  over  an  area  of  seventy-five  square 
miles.  Its  population  was  not  so  much  thriving  upon 
established  commerce  as  upon  the  industries  which  pre- 
pared for  the  arrival  of  others.  The  sound  of  the  ham- 
mer engaged  upon  the  erection  of  new  structures  was 
everywhere  heard.  Great  industries  were  moving  in. 
The  huge  railroad  corporations  which  had  long  before 
recognised  the  prospects  of  the  place  had  seized  upon 
vast  tracts  of  land  for  transfer  and  shipping  purposes. 
Street-car  lines  had  been  extended  far  out  into  the  open 
country  in  anticipation  of  rapid  growth.     The  city  had 


SISTER   CARRIE  iy 

laid  miles  and  miles  of  streets  and  sewers  through  regions 
where,  perhaps,  one  solitary  house  stood  out  alone — a 
pioneer  of  the  populous  ways  to  be.  There  were  regions 
open  to  the  sweeping  winds  and  rain,  which  were  yet 
lighted  throughout  the  night  with  long,  blinking  lines  of 
gas-lamps,  fluttering  in  the  wind.  Narrow  board  walks 
extended  out,  passing  here  a  house,  and  there  a  store, 
at  far  intervals,  eventually  ending  on  the  open  prairie. 

In  the  central  portion  was  the  vast  wholesale  and  shop- 
ping district,  to  which  the  uninformed  seeker  for  work 
usually  drifted.  It  was  a  characteristic  of  Chicago  then, 
and  one  not  generally  shared  by  other  cities,  that  indi- 
vidual firms  of  any  pretension  occupied  individual  build- 
ings. The  presence  of  ample  ground  made  this  possible. 
It  gave  an  imposing  appearance  to  most  of  the  wholesale 
houses,  whose  offices  were  upon  the  ground  floor  and  in 
plain  view  of  the  street.  The  large  plates  of  window  glass, 
now  so  common,  were  then  rapidly  coming  into  use,  and 
gave  to  the  ground  floor  offices  a  distinguished  and  pros- 
perous look.  The  casual  wanderer  could  see  as  he  passed 
a  polished  array  of  office  fixtures,  much  frosted  glass, 
clerks  hard  at  work,  and  genteel  business  men  in  "nobby" 
suits  and  clean  linen  lounging  about  or  sitting  in  groups. 
Polished  brass  or  nickel  signs  at  the  square  stone  en- 
trances announced  the  firm  and  the  nature  of  the  business 
in  rather  neat  and  reserved  terms.  The  entire  metropoli- 
tan centre  possessed  a  high  and  mighty  air  calculated  to 
overawe  and  abash  the  common  applicant,  and  to  make 
the  gulf  between  poverty  and  success  seem  both  wide  and 
deep. 

Into  this  important,  commercial  region  the  timid  Carrie 
went.  She  walked  east  along  Van  Buren  Street  through 
a  region  of  lessening  importance,  until  it  deteriorated  into 
a  mass  of  shanties  and  coal-yards,  and  finally  verged  upon 
the  river.     She  walked  bravely  forward,  led  by  an  honest 


1 8  SISTER  CARRIE 

desire  to  find  employment  and  delayed  at  every  step  by 
the  interest  of  the  unfolding  scene,  and  a  sense  of  help- 
lessness amid  so  much  evidence  of  power  and  force  which 
she  did  not  understand.  These  vast  buildings,  what  were 
they?  These  strange  energies  and  huge  interests,  for 
what  purposes  were  they  there?  She  could  have  under- 
stood the  meaning  of  a  little  stone-cutter's  yard  at  Colum- 
bia City,  carving  little  pieces  of  marble  for  individual  use, 
but  when  the  yards  of  some  huge  stone  corporation  came 
into  view,  rilled  wit*  spur  tracks  and  flat  cars,  transpierced 
by  docks  from  the  river  and  traversed  overhead  by  im- 
mense trundling  cranes  of  wood  and  steel,  it  lost  all  sig- 
nificance in  her  little  world. 

It  was  so  with  the  vast  railroad  yards,  with  the  crowded 
array  of  vessels  she  saw  at  the  river,  and  the  huge  factories 
over  the  way,  lining  the  water's  edge.  Through  the  open 
windows  she  could  see  the  figures  of  men  and  women  in 
working  aprons,  moving  busily  about.  The  great  streets 
were  wall-lined  mysteries  to  her;  the  vast  offices,  strange 
mazes  which  concerned  far-off  individuals  of  importance. 
She  could  only  think  of  people  connected  with  them  as 
counting  money,  dressing  magnificently,  and  riding  in 
carriages.  What  they  dealt  in,  how  they  laboured,  to 
what  end  it  all  came,  she  had  only  the  vaguest  concep- 
tion. It  was  all  wonderful,  all  vast,  all  far  removed,  and 
she  sank  in  spirit  inwardly  and  fluttered  feebly  at  the 
heart  as  she  thought  of  entering  any  one  of  these  mighty 
concerns  and  asking  for  something  to  do — something 
that  she  could  do — anything. 


CHAPTER   III 

WE   QUESTION   OF  FORTUNE:    FOUR-FIFTY  A   WEEK 

Once  across  the  river  and  into  the  wholesale  district, 
she  glanced  about  her  for  some  likely  door  at  which  to 
apply.  As  she  contemplated  the  wide  windows  and  im- 
posing signs,  she  became  conscious  of  being  gazed  upon 
and  understood  for  what  she  was — a  wage-seeker.  She 
'had  never  done  this  thing  before,  and  lacked  courage. 
To  avoid  a  certain  indefinable  shame  she  felt  at  being 
caught  spying  about  for  a  position,  she  quickened  her 
steps  and  assumed  an  air  of  indifference  supposedly  com- 
mon to  one  upon  an  errand.  In  this  way  she  passed  many 
manufacturing  and  wholesale  houses  without  once  glan- 
cing in.  At  last,  after  several  blocks  of  walking,  she  felt 
that  this  would  not  do,  and  began  to  look  about  again, 
though  without  relaxing  her  pace.  A  little  way  on  she 
saw  a  great  door  which,  for  some  reason,  attracted  her 
attention.  It  was  ornamented  by  a  small  brass  sign,  and 
seemed  to  be  the  entrance  to  a  vast  hive  of  six  or  seven 
floors.  "  Perhaps,"  she  thought,  "  they  may  want  some 
one,"  and  crossed  over  to  enter.  When  she  came  within 
a  score  of  feet  of  the  desired  goal,  she  saw  through  the 
window  a  young  man  in  a  grey  checked  suit.  That  he 
^had  anything  to  do  with  the  concern,  she  could  not  tell, 
but  because  he  happened  to  be  looking  in  her  direction 
her  weakening  heart  misgave  her  and  she  hurried  by,  too 
overcome  with  shame  to  enter.  Over  the  way  stood  a 
great  six-story  structure,  labelled  Storm  and  King,  which 


20  SISTER  CARRIE 

she  viewed  with  rising  hope.  It  was  a  wholesale  dry- 
goods  concern  and  employed  women.  She  could  see  them 
moving  about  now  and  then  upon  the  upper  floors.  This 
place  she  decided  to  enter,  no  matter  what.  She  crossed 
over  and  walked  directly  toward  the  entrance.  As  she 
did  so,  two  men  came  out  and  paused  in  the  door.  A  tele- 
graph messenger  in  blue  dashed  past  her  and  up  the  few 
steps  that  led  to  the  entrance  and  disappeared.  Several 
pedestrians  out  of  the  hurrying  throng  which  filled  the 
sidewalks  passed  about  her  as  she  paused,  hesitating.  She 
looked  helplessly  around,  and  then,  seeing  herself  ob- 
served, retreated.  It  was  too  difficult  a  task.  She  could 
not  go  past  them. 

So  severe  a  defeat  told  sadly  upon  her  nerves.  Her  feet 
carried  her  mechanically  forward,  every  foot  of  her  prog- 
ress being  a  satisfactory  portion  of  a  flight  which  she 
gladly  made.  Block  after  block  passed  by.  Upon  street- 
lamps  at  the  various  corners  she  read  names  such  as  Madi- 
son, Monroe,  La  Salle,  Clark,  Dearborn,  State,  and  still 
she  went,  her  feet  beginning  to  tire  upon  the  broad  stone 
flagging.  She  was  pleased  in  part  that  the  streets  were 
bright  and  clean.  The  morning  sun,  shining  down  with 
steadily  increasing  warmth,  made  the  shady  side  of  the 
streets  pleasantly  cool.  She  looked  at  the  blue  sky  over- 
head with  more  realisation  of  its  charm  than  had  ever 
come  to  her  before. 

Her  cowardice  began  to  trouble  her  in  a  way.  She 
turned  back,  resolving  to  hunt  up  Storm  and  King  and 
enter.  On  the  way  she  encountered  a  great  wholesale 
shoe  company,  through  the  broad  plate  windows  of  which 
she  saw  an  enclosed  executive  department,  hidden  b^ 
frosted  glass.  Without  this  enclosure,  but  just  within 
the  street  entrance,  sat  a  grey-haired  gentleman  at  a  small 
table,  with  a  large  open  ledger  before  him.  She  walked 
by  this  institution  several  times  hesitating,  but,  finding 


SISTER   CARRIE  21 

herself  unobserved,  faltered  past  the  screen  door  and 
stood  humbly  waiting. 

"  Well,  young  lady,"  observed  the  old  gentleman,  look- 
ing at  her  somewhat  kindly,  "  what  is  it  you  wish?  " 

"  I  am,  that  is,  do  you — I  mean,  do  you  need  any  help?" 
she  stammered. 

"  Not  just  at  present,"  he  answered  smiling.  "  Not 
just  at  present.  Come  in  some  time  next  week.  Occa- 
sionally we  need  some  one." 

She  received  the  answer  in  silence  and  backed  awk- 
wardly out.  The  pleasant  nature  of  her  reception  rather 
astonished  her.  She  had  expected  that  it  would  be  more 
difficult,  that  something  cold  and  harsh  would  be  said — 
she  knew  not  what.  That  she  had  not  been  put  to  shame 
and  made  to  feel  her  unfortunate  position,  seemed  re- 
markable. 

Somewhat  encouraged,  she  ventured  into'  another  large 
structure.  It  was  a  clothing  company,  and  more  people 
were  in  evidence — well-dressed  men  of  forty  and  more, 
surrounded  by  brass  railings. 

An  office  boy  approached  her. 

"  Who  is  it  you  wish  to  see?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  manager,"  she  said. 

He  ran  away  and  spoke  to  one  of  a  group  of  three  men 
who  were  conferring  together.  One  of  these  came  to- 
wards her. 

"  Well?  "  he  said  coldly.  The  greeting  drove  all  cour- 
age from  her  at  once. 

"  Do  you  need  any  help?  "  she  stammered. 

"  No,"  he  replied  abruptly,  and  turned  upon  his  heel. 

She  went  foolishly  out,  the  office  boy  deferentially 
swinging  the  door  for  her,  and  gladly  sank  into  the  ob- 
scuring crowd.  It  was  a  severe  setback  to  her  recently 
pleased  mental  state. 

•Now  she  walked  quite  aimlessly  for  a  time,  turning  here 


22  SISTER  CARRIE 

and  there,  seeing  one  great  company  after  another,  but 
finding  no  courage  to  prosecute  her  single  inquiry.  High 
noon  came,  and  with  it  hunger.  She  hunted  out  an  un- 
assuming restaurant  and  entered,  but  was  disturbed  to 
find  that  the  prices  were  exorbitant  for  the  size  of  her 
purse.  A  bowl  of  soup  was  all  that  she  could  afford,  and, 
with  this  quickly  eaten,  she  went  out  again.  It  restored 
her  strength  somewhat  and  made  her  moderately  bold  to 
pursue  the  search. 

In  walking  a  few  blocks  to  fix  upon  some  probable 
place,  she  again  encountered  the  firm  of  Storm  and  King, 
and  this  time  managed  to  get  in.  Some  gentlemen  were 
conferring  close  at  hand,  but  took  no  notice  of  her.  She 
was  left  standing,  gazing  nervously  upon  the  floor.  When 
the  limit  of  her  distress  had  been  nearly  reached,  she  was 
beckoned  to  by  a  man  at  one  of  the  many  desks  within  the 
near-by  railing. 

"  Who  is  it  you  wish  to  see?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  any  one,  if  you  please,"  she  answered.  "  I  am 
looking  for  something  to  do." 

"  Oh,  you  want  to  see  Mr.  McManus,"  he  returned. 
"  Sit  down,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  chair  against  the  neigh- 
bouring wall.  He  went  on  leisurely  writing,  until  after  a 
time  a  short,  stout  gentleman  came  in  from  the  street. 

"  Mr.  McManus,"  called  the  man  at  the  desk,  "  this 
young  woman  wants  to  see  you." 

The  short  gentleman  turned  about  towards  Carrie,  and 
she  arose  and  came  forward. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  miss  ?  "  he  inquired,  survey- 
ing her  curiously. 

"  I  want  to  know  if  I  can  get  a  position,"  she  inquired. 

"  As  what?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  as  anything  in  particular,"  she  faltered. 

"  Have  you  ever  had  any  experience  in  the  wholesale 
dry  goods  business?  "  he  questioned. 


SISTER   CARRIE  23 

"  No,  sir/'  she  replied. 

"  Are  you  a  stenographer  or  typewriter?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  we  haven't  anything  here,"  he  said.  "  We  em- 
ploy only  experienced  help." 

She  began  to  step  backward  toward  the  door,  when 
something  about  her  plaintive  face  attracted  him. 

"  Have  you  ever  worked  at  anything  before?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  now,  it's  hardly  possible  that  you  would  get 
anything  to  do  in  a  wholesale  house  of  this  kind.  Have 
you  tried  the  department  stores?" 

She  acknowledged  that  she  had  not. 

"  Well,  if  I  were  you,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  rather 
genially,  "  I  would  try  the  department  stores.  They  often 
need  young  women  as  clerks." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  her  whole  nature  relieved  by 
this  spark  of  friendly  interest. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  she  moved  toward  the  door,  "  you 
try  the  department  stores,"  and  off  he  went. 

At  that  time  the  department  store  was  in  its  earliest 
form  of  successful  operation,  and  there  were  not  many. 
The  first  three  in  the  United  States,  established  about 
1884,  were  in  Chicago.  Carrie  was  familiar  with  the 
names  of  several  through  the  advertisements  in  the 
"  Daily  News,"  and  now  proceeded  to  seek  them.  The 
words  of  Mr.  McManus  had  somehow  managed  to  restore 
her  courage,  which  had  fallen  low,  and  she  dared  to  hope 
that  this  new  line  would  offer  her  something.  Some  time 
she  spent  in  wandering  up  and  down,  thinking  to  en- 
counter the  buildings  by  chance,  so  readily  is  the  mind, 
bent  upon  prosecuting  a  hard  but  needful  errand,  eased 
by  that  self-deception  which  the  semblance  of  search, 
without  the  reality,  gives.     At  last  she  inquired  of  a  police 


24  SISTER  CARRIE 

officer,  and  was  directed  to  proceed  "  two  blocks  up," 
where  she  would  find  "  The  Fair." 

The  nature  of  these  vast  retail  combinations,  should 
they  ever  permanently  disappear,  will  form  an  interesting 
chapter  in  the  commercial  history  of  our  nation.  Such 
a  flowering  out  of  a  modest  trade  principle  the  world  had 
never  witnessed  up  to  that  time.  They  were  along  the 
line  of  the  most  effective  retail  organisation,  with  hun- 
dreds of  stores  coordinated  into  one  and  laid  out  upon 
the  most  imposing  and  economic  basis.  They  were  hand- 
some, bustling,  successful  affairs,  with  a  host  of  clerks 
and  a  swarm  of  patrons.  Carrie  passed  along  the  busy 
aisles,  much  affected  by  the  remarkable  displays  of  trin- 
kets, dress  goods,  stationery,  and  jewelry.  Each  separate 
counter  was  a  show  place  of  dazzling  interest  and  attrac- 
tion. She  could  not  help  feeling  the  claim  of  each  trinket 
and  valuable  upon  her  personally,  and  yet  she  did  not 
stop.  There  was  nothing  there  which  she  could  not  have 
used — nothing  which  she  did  not  long  to  own.  The 
dainty  slippers  and  stockings,  the  delicately  frilled  skirts 
and  petticoats,  the  laces,  ribbons,  hair-combs,  purses,  all 
touched  her  with  individual  desire,  and  she  felt  keenly 
the  fact  that  not  any  of  these  things  were  in  the  range  of 
her  purchase.  She  was  a  work-seeker,  an  outcast  without 
employment,  one  whom  the  average  employee  could  tell 
at  a  glance  was  poor  and  in  need  of  a  situation. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  any  one  could  have  mis- 
taken her  for  a  nervous,  sensitive,  high-strung  nature, 
cast  unduly  upon  a  cold,  calculating,  and  unpoetic  world. 
Such  certainly  she  was  not.  But  women  are  peculiarly 
sensitive  to  their  adornment. 

Not  only  did  Carrie  feel  the  drag  of  desire  for  all  which 
was  new  and  pleasing  in  apparel  for  women,  but  she  no- 
ticed too,  with  a  touch  at  the  heart,  the  fine  ladies  who 
elbowed  and  ignored  her,  brushing  past  in  utter  disregard 


SISTER   CARRIE  25 

of  her  presence,  themselves  eagerly  enlisted  in  the  mate- 
rials which  the  store  contained.  Carrie  was  not  familiar 
with  the  appearance  of  her  more  fortunate  sisters  of  the 
city.  Neither  had  she  before  known  the  nature  and  ap- 
pearance of  the  shop  girls  with  whom  she  now  compared 
poorly.  They  were  pretty  in  the  main,  some  even  hand- 
some, with  an  air  of  independence  and  indifference  which 
added,  in  the  case  of  the  more  favoured,  a  certain 
piquancy.  Their  clothes  were  neat,  in  many  instances 
fine,  and  wherever  she  encountered  the  eye  of  one  it  was 
only  to  recognise  in  it  a  keen  analysis  of  her  own  position 
— her  individual  shortcomings  of  dress  and  that  shadow 
of  manner  which  she  thought  must  hang  about  her  and 
make  clear  to  all  who  and  what  she  was.  A  flame  of  envy 
lighted  in  her  heart.  She  realised  in  a  dim  way  how 
much  the  city  held — wealth,  fashion,  ease — every  adorn- 
ment for  women,  and  she  longed  for  dress  and  beauty 
with  a  whole  heart. 

On  the  second  floor  were  the  managerial  offices,  to 
which,  after  some  inquiry,  she  was  now  directed.  There 
she  found  other  girls  ahead  of  her,  applicants  like  herself, 
but  with  more  of  that  self-satisfied  and  independent  air 
which  experience  of  the  city  lends;  girls  who  scrutinised 
her  in  a  painful  manner.  After  a  wait  of  perhaps  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour,  she  was  called  in  turn. 

"  Now,"  said  a  sharp,  quick-mannered  Jew,  who  was 
sitting  at  a  roll-top  desk  near  the  window,  "  have  you  ever 
worked  in  any  other  store?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  you  haven't,"  he  said,  eyeing  her  keenly. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,  we  prefer  young  women  just  now  with  some 
experience.     I  guess  we  can't  use  you." 

Carrie  stood  waiting  a  moment,  hardly  certain  whether 
the  interview  had  terminated. 


26  SISTER  CARRIE 

"Don't  wait!"  he  exclaimed.  "Remember  we  are 
very  busy  here." 

Carrie  began  to  move  quickly  to  the  door. 

"  Hold  on,"  he  said,  calling  her  back.  "  Give  me  your 
name  and  address.     We  want  girls  occasionally." 

When  she  had  gotten  safely  into  the  street,  she  could 
scarcely  restrain  the  tears.  It  was  not  so  much  the  partic- 
ular rebuff  which  she  had  just  experienced,  but  the  whole 
abashing  trend  of  the  day.  She  was  tired  and  nervous. 
She  abandoned  the  thought  of  appealing  to  the  other  de- 
partment stores  and  now  wandered  on,  feeling  a  certain 
safety  and  relief  in  mingling  with  the  crowd. 

In  her  indifferent  wandering  she  turned  into  Jackson 
Street,  not  far  from  the  river,  and  was  keeping  her  way 
along  the  south  side  of  that  imposing  thoroughfare,  when 
a  piece  of  wrapping  paper,  written  on  with  marking  ink 
and  tacked  up  on  the  door,  attracted  her  attention.  It 
read,  "  Girls  wanted — wrappers  &  stitchers."  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  then  entered. 

The  firm  of  Speigelheim  &  Co.,  makers  of  boys'  caps, 
occupied  one  floor  of  the  building,  fifty  feet  in  width  and 
some  eighty  feet  in  depth.  It  was  a  place  rather  dingily 
lighted,  the  darkest  portions  having  incandescent  lights, 
filled  with  machines  and  work  benches.  At  the  latter 
laboured  quite  a  company  of  girls  and  some  men.  The 
former  were  drabby-looking  creatures,  stained  in  face  with 
oil  and  dust,  clad  in  thin,  shapeless,  cotton  dresses  and 
shod  with  more  or  less  worn  shoes.  Many  of  them  had 
their  sleeves  rolled  up,  revealing  bare  arms,  and  in  some 
cases,  owing  to  the  heat,  their  dresses  were  open  at  the 
neck.  They  were  a  fair  type  of  nearly  the  lowest  order 
of  shop-girls — careless,  slouchy,  and  more  or  less  pale 
from  confinement.  They  were  not  timid,  however;  were 
rich  in  curiosity,  and  strong  in  daring  and  slang. 

Carrie  looked  about  her,  very  much  disturbed  and  quite 


SISTER   CARRIE  2? 

sure  that  she  did  not  want  to  work  here.  Aside  from 
making  her  uncomfortable  by  sidelong  glances,  no  one 
paid  her  the  least  attention.  She  waited  until  the  whole 
department  was  aware  of  her  presence.  Then  some  word 
was  sent  around,  and  a  foreman,  in  an  apron  and  shirt 
sleeves,  the  latter  rolled  up  to  his  shoulders,  approached. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do  you  need  any  help?  "  said  Carrie,  already  learning 
directness  of  address. 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  stitch  caps?  "  he  returned. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"  Have  you  ever  had  any  experience  at  this  kind  of 
work?  "  he  inquired. 

She  answered  that  she  had  not. 

"  Well,"  said  the  foreman,  scratching  his  ear  medita- 
tively, "  we  do  need  a  stitcher.  We  like  experienced  help, 
though.  We've  hardly  got  time  to  break  people  in."  He 
paused  and  looked  away  out  of  the  window.  "  We  might, 
though,  put  you  at  finishing,"  he  concluded  reflectively. 

"  How  much  do  you  pay  a  week  ?  "  ventured  Carrie, 
emboldened  by  a  certain  softness  in  the  man's  manner 
and  his  simplicity  of  address. 

"  Three  and  a  half,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,"  she  was  about  to  exclaim,  but  checked  herself 
and  allowed  her  thoughts  to  die  without  expression. 

"  We're  not  exactly  in  need  of  anybody,"  he  went  on 
vaguely,  looking  her  over  as  one  would  a  package.  "  You 
can  come  on  Monday  morning,  though,"  he  added,  "  and 
I'll  put  you  to  work." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Carrie  weakly. 

"  If  you  come,  bring  an  apron,"  he  added. 

He  walked  away  and  left  her  standing  by  the  elevator, 
never  so  much  as  inquiring  her  name. 

While  the  appearance  of  the  shop  and  the  announce- 
ment of  the  price  paid  per  week  operated  very  much  as  a 


^8  SISTER  CARRIE 

blow  to  Carrie's  fancy,  the  fact  that  work  of  any  kind  was 
offered  after  so  rude  a  round  of  experience  was  gratifying. 
She  could  not  begin  to  believe  that  she  would  take  the 
place,  modest  as  her  aspirations  were.  She  had  been  used 
to  better  than  that.  Her  mere  experience  and  the  free 
out-of-door  life  of  the  country  caused  her  nature  to  revolt 
at  such  confinement.  Dirt  had  never  been  her  share. 
Her  sister's  flat  was  clean.  This  place  was  grimy  and 
low,  the  girls  were  careless  and  hardened.  They  must  be 
bad-minded  and  hearted,  she  imagined.  Still,  a  place  had 
been  offered  her.  Surely  Chicago  was  not  so  bad  if  she 
could  find  one  place  in  one  day.  She  might  find  another 
and  better  later. 

Her  subsequent  experiences  were  not  of  a  reassuring 
nature,  however.  From  all  the  more  pleasing  or  impos- 
ing places  she  was  turned  away  abruptly  with  the  most 
chilling  formality.  In  others  where  she  applied  only  the 
experienced  were  required.  She  met  with  painful  rebuffs, 
the  most  trying  of  which  had  been  in  a  manufacturing 
cloak  house,  where  she  had  gone  to  the  fourth  floor  to 
inquire. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  foreman,  a  rough,  heavily  built  in- 
dividual, who  looked  after  a  miserably  lighted  workshop, 
"  we  don't  want  any  one.     Don't  come  here." 

With  the  wane  of  the  afternoon  went  her  hopes,  her 
courage,  and  her  strength.  She  had  been  astonishingly 
persistent.  So  earnest  an  effort  was  well  deserving  of  a 
better  reward.  On  every  hand,  to  her  fatigued  senses, 
the  great  business  portion  grew  larger,  harder,  more 
stolid  in  its  indifference.  Jt  seemed  as  if  it  was  all  closed 
to  her,  that  the  struggle  was  too  fierce  for  her  to  hope  to 
do  anything  at  all.  Men  and  women  hurried  by  in  long, 
shifting  lines.  She  felt  the  flow  of  the  tide  of  effort  and 
interest — felt  her  own  helplessness  without  quite  realising 
the  wisp  on  the  tide  that  she  was.     She  cast  about  vainly 


SISTER   CARRIE  29 

for  some  possible  place  to  apply,  but  found  no  door  which 
she  had  the  courage  to  enter.  It  would  be  the  same  thing 
all  over.  The  old  humiliation  of  her  plea,  rewarded  by- 
curt  denial.  Sick  at  heart  and  in  body,  she  turned  to  the 
west,  the  direction  of  Minnie's  flat,  which  she  had  now 
fixed  in  mind,  and  began  that  wearisome,  baffled  retreat 
which  the  seeker  for  employment  at  nightfall  too  often 
makes.  In  passing  through  Fifth  Avenue,  south  towards 
Van  Buren  Street,  where  she  intended  to  take  a  car,  she 
passed  the  door  of  a  large  wholesale  shoe  house,  through 
the  plate-glass  window  of  which  she  could  see  a  middle- 
aged  gentleman  sitting  at  a  small  desk.  One  of  those 
forlorn  impulses  which  often  grow  out  of  a  fixed  sense  of 
defeat,  the  last  sprouting  of  a  baffled  and  uprooted  growth 
of  ideas,  seized  upon  her.  She  walked  deliberately 
through  the  door  and  up  to  the  gentleman,  who  looked  at 
her  weary  face  with  partially  awakened  interest. 

"What  is  it?  "he  said. 

"  Can  you  give  me  something  to  do?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Now,  I  really  don't  know,"  he  said  kindly.  "  What 
kind  of  work  is  it  you  want — you're  not  a  typewriter,  are 
you?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  Carrie. 

"  Well,  we  only  employ  book-keepers  and  typewriters 
here.  You  might  go  around  to  the  side  and  inquire  up- 
stairs. They  did  want  some  help  upstairs  a  few  days  ago. 
Ask  for  Mr.  Brown." 

She  hastened  around  to  the  side  entrance  and  was  taken 
up  by  the  elevator  to  the  fourth  floor. 

"  Call  Mr.  Brown,  Willie,"  said  the  elevator  man  to  a 
boy  near  by. 

Willie  went  off  and  presently  returned  with  the  infor- 
mation that  Mr.  Brown  said  she  should  sit  down  and  that 
he  would  be  around  in  a  little  while. 

It  was  a  portion  of  the  stock  room  which  gave  no  idea 


30  SISTER  CARRIE 

of  the  general  character  of  the  place,  and  Carrie  could 
form  no  opinion  of  the  nature  of  the  work. 

"  So  you  want  something  to  do,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  after 
he  inquired  concerning  the  nature  of  her  errand.  "  Have 
you  ever  been  employed  in  a  shoe  factory  before?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Carrie. 

"What  is  your  name?"  he  inquired,  and  being  in- 
formed, "  Well,  I  don't  know  as*  I  have  anything  for  you. 
Would  you  work  for  four  and  a  half  a  week?  " 

Carrie  was  too  worn  by  defeat  not  to  feel  that  it  was 
considerable.  She  had  not  expected  that  he  would  offer 
her  less  than  six.  She  acquiesced,  however,  and  he  took 
her  name  and  address. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  finally,  "  you  report  here  at  eight 
o'clock  Monday  morning.  I  think  I  can  find  something 
for  you  to  do." 

He  left  her  revived  by  the  possibilities,  sure  that  she  had 
found  something  at  last.  Instantly  the  blood  crept 
warmly  over  her  body.  Her  nervous  tension  relaxed. 
She  walked  out  into  the  busy  street  and  discovered  a  new 
atmosphere.  Behold,  the  throng  was  moving  with  a 
lightsome  step.  She  noticed  that  men  and  women  were 
smiling.  Scraps  of  conversation  and  notes  of  laughter 
floated  to  her.  The  air  was  light.  People  were  already 
pouring  out  of  the  buildings,  their  labour  ended  for  the 
day.  She  noticed  that  they  were  pleased,  and  thoughts 
of  her  sister's  home  and  the  meal  that  would  be  awaiting 
her  quickened  her  steps.  She  hurried  on,  tired  perhaps, 
but  no  longer  weary  of  foot.  What  would  not  Minnie 
say!  Ah,  the  long  winter  in  Chicago — the  lights,  the 
crowd,  the  amusement!  This  was  a  great,  pleasing  me- 
tropolis after  all.  Her  new  firm  was  a  goodly  institution. 
Its  windows  were  of  huge  plate  glass.  She  could  prob- 
ably do  well  there.  Thoughts  of  Drouet  returned — of  the 
things  he  had  told  her.     She  now  felt  that  life  was  better, 


SISTER   CARRIE  31 

that  it  was  livelier,  sprig'htlier.  She  boarded  a  car  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  feeling  her  blood  still  flowing  pleasantly. 
She  would  live  in  Chicago,  her  mind  kept  saying  to  itself. 
She  would  have  a  better  time  than  she  had  ever  had  before 
— she  would  be  happy. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  SPENDINGS  OF  FANCY :  FACTS  ANSWER  WITH  SNEERS 

For  the  next  two  days  Carrie  indulged  in  the  most  high- 
flown  speculations. 

Her  fancy  plunged  recklessly  into  privileges  and 
amusements  which  would  have  been  much  more  becom- 
ing had  she  been  cradled  a  child  of  fortune.  With  ready 
will  and  quick  mental  selection  she  scattered  her  meagre 
four-fifty  per  week  with  a  swift  and  graceful  hand.  In- 
deed, as  she  sat  in  her  rocking-chair  these  several  even- 
ings before  going  to  bed  and  looked  out  upon  the  pleas- 
antly lighted  street,  this  money  cleared  for  its  prospective 
possessor  the  way  to  every  joy  and  every  bauble  which  the 
heart  of  woman  may  desire.  "  I  will  have  a  fine  time," 
she  thought. 

Her  sister  Minnie  knew  nothing  of  these  rather  wild 
cerebrations,  though  they  exhausted  the  markets  of  de- 
light. She  was  too  busy  scrubbing  the  kitchen  wood- 
work and  calculating  the  purchasing  power  of  eighty 
cents  for  Sunday's  dinner.  When  Carrie  had  returned 
home,  flushed  with  her  first  success  and  ready,  for  all 
her  weariness,  to  discuss  the  now  interesting  events  which 
led  up  to  her  achievement,  the  former  had  merely  smiled 
approvingly  and  inquired  whether  she  would  have  to 
spend  any  of  it  for  car  fare.  This  consideration  had  not 
entered  in  before,  and  it  did  not  now  for  long  affect  the 
glow  of  Carrie's  enthusiasm.  Disposed  as  she  then  was 
to  calculate  upon  that  vague  basis  which  allows  the  sub- 


SISTER   CARRIE  33 

traction  of  one  sum  from  another  without  any  perceptible 
diminution,  she  was  happy. 

When  Hanson  came  home  at  seven  o'clock,  he  was  in- 
clined to  be  a  little  crusty — his  usual  demeanour  before 
supper.  This  never  showed  so  much  in  anything  he  said 
as  in  a  certain  solemnity  of  countenance  and  the  silent 
manner  in  which  he  slopped  about.  He  had  a  pair  of 
yellow  carpet  slippers  which  he  enjoyed  wearing,  and 
these  he  would  immediately  substitute  for  his  solid  pair 
of  shoes.  This,  and  washing  his  face  with  the  aid  of  com- 
mon washing  soap  until  it  glowed  a  shiny  red,  constituted 
his  only  preparation  for  his  evening  meal.  He  would 
then  get  his  evening  paper  and  read  in  silence. 

For  a  young  man,  this  was  rather  a  morbid  turn  of 
character,  and  so  affected  Carrie.  Indeed,  it  affected  the 
entire  atmosphere  of  the  flat,  as  such  things  are  inclined 
to  do,  and  gave  to  his  wife's  mind  its  subdued  and  tactful 
turn,  anxious  to  avoid  taciturn  replies.  Under  the  influ- 
ence of  Carrie's  announcement  he  brightened  up  some- 
what. 

"You  didn't  lose  any  time,  did  you?"  he  remarked, 
smiling  a  little. 

"  No,"  returned  Carrie  with  a  touch  of  pride. 

He  asked  her  one  or  two  more  questions  and  then 
turned  to  play  with  the  baby,  leaving  the  subject  until  it 
was  brought  up  again  by  Minnie  at  the  table. 

Carrie,  'however,  was  not  to  be  reduced  to  the  common 
level  of  observation  which  prevailed  in  the  flat. 

"  It  seems  to  be  such  a  large  company,"  she  said,  at  one 
place.  "  Great  big  plate-glass  windows  and  lots  of  clerks. 
The  man  I  saw  said  they  hired  ever  so  many  people." 

"  It's  not  very  hard  to  get  work  now,"  put  in  Hanson, 
"  if  you  look  right." 

Minnie,  under  the  warming  influence  of  Carrie's  good 
spirits  and  her  husband's  somewhat  conversational  mood, 
3 


34  SISTER  CARRIE 

began  to  tell  Carrie  of  some  of  the  well-known  things  to 
see — things  the  enjoyment  of  which  cost  nothing. 

"  You'd  like  to  see  Michigan  Avenue.  There  are  such 
fine  houses.     It  is  such  a  fine  street." 

"  Where  is  '  H.  R.  Jacob's  '?  "  interrupted  Carrie,  men- 
tioning one  of  the  theatres  devoted  to  melodrama  which 
went  by  that  name  at  the  time.  * 

"  Oh,  it's  not  very  far  from  here,"  answered  Minnie. 
"  It's  in  Halstead  Street,  right  up  here." 

"  How  I'd  like  to  go  there.  I  crossed  Halstead  Street 
to-day,  didn't  I?" 

At  this  there  was  a  slight  halt  in  the  natural  reply. 
Thoughts  are  a  strangely  permeating  factor.  At  her  sug- 
gestion of  going  to  the  theatre,  the  unspoken  shade  of  dis- 
approval to  the  doing  of  those  things  which  involved  the 
expenditure  of  money — shades  of  feeling  which  arose  in 
the  mind  of  Hanson  and  then  in  Minnie — slightly  affected 
the  atmosphere  of  the  table.  Minnie  answered  "  yes,"  but 
Carrie  could  feel  that  going  to  the  theatre  was  poorly 
advocated  here.  The  subject  was  put  off  for  a  little  while 
until  Hanson,  through  with  his  meal,  took  his  paper  and 
went  into  the  front  room. 

When  they  were  alone,  the  two  sisters  began  a  some- 
what freer  conversation,  Carrie  interrupting  it  to  hum  a 
little,  as  they  worked  at  the  dishes. 

"  I  should  like  to  walk  up  and  see  Halstead  Street,  if  it 
isn't  too  far,"  said  Carrie,  after  a  time.  "  Why  don't  we 
go  to  the  theatre  to-night?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  Sven  would  want  to  go  to-night," 
returned  Minnie.     "  He  has  to  get  up  so  early." 

"  He  wouldn't  mind — he'd  enjoy  it,"   said  Carrie. 

"  No,  he  doesn't  go  very  often,"  returned  Minnie. 

"  Well,  I'd  like  to  go,"  rejoined  Carrie.  "  Let's  you 
and  me  go." 

Minnie  pondered  a  while,  not  upon  whether  she  could 


SISTER  CARRIE  35 

or  would  go — for  that  point  was  already  negatively  set- 
tled with  her — but  upon  some  means  of  diverting  the 
thoughts  of  her  sister  to  some  other  topic. 

"  We'll  go  some  other  time,"  she  said  at  last,  finding 
no  ready  means  of  escape. 

Carrie  sensed  the  root  of  the  opposition  at  once. 

"  I  have  some  money,"  she  said.     "  You  go  with  me." 

Minnie  shook  her  head. 

"  He  could  go  along,"  said  Carrie. 

"  No,"  returned  Minnie  softly,  and  rattling  the  dishes  to 
drown  the  conversation.     "  He  wouldn't." 

It  had  been  several  years  since  Minnie  had  seen  Carrie, 
and  in  that  time  the  latter's  character  had  developed  a  few 
shades.  Naturally  timid  in  all  things  that  related  to  her 
own  advancement,  and  especially  so  when  without  power 
or  resource,  her  craving  for  pleasure  was  so  strong  that  it 
was  the  one  stay  of  her  nature.  She  would  speak  for  that 
when  silent  on  all  else. 

"  Ask  him,"  she  pleaded  softly. 

Minnie  was  thinking  of  the  resource  which  Carrie's 
board  would  add.  It  would  pay  the  rent  and  would  make 
the  subject  of  expenditure  a  little  less  difficult  to  talk 
about  with  her  husband.  But  if  Carrie  was  going  to  think 
of  running  around  in  the  beginning  there  would  be  a 
hitch  somewhere.  Unless  Carrie  submitted  to  a  solemn 
round  of  industry  and  saw  the  need  of  hard  work  without 
longing  for  play,  how  was  her  coming  to  the  city  to  profit 
them?  These  thoughts  were  not  those  of  a, cold,  hard 
nature  at  all.  They  were  the  serious  reflections  of  a  mind 
which  invariably  adjusted  itself,  without  much  complain- 
ing, to  such  surroundings  as  its  industry  could  make  for 
it. 

At  last  she  yielded  enough  to  ask  Hanson.  It  was  a 
half-hearted  procedure  without  a  shade  of  desire  on  her 
part. 


36  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Carrie  wants  us  to  go  to  the  theatre,"  she  said,  looking 
in  upon  her  husband.  Hanson  looked  up  from  his  paper, 
and  they  exchanged  a  mild  look,  which  said  as  plainly  as 
anything:  "  This  isn't  what  we  expected." 

"  I  don't  care  to  go,"  he  returned.  "  What  does  she 
want  to  see?  " 

"  H.  R.  Jacob's,"  said  Minnie. 

He  looked  down  at  his  paper  and  shook  his  head  nega- 
tively. 

When  Carrie  saw  how  they  looked  upon  her  proposi- 
tion, she  gained  a  still  clearer  feeling  of  their  way  of  life. 
It  weighed  on  her,but  took  no  definite  form  of  opposition. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  down  and  stand  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,"  she  said,  after  a  time. 

Minnie  made  no  objection  to  this,  and  Carrie  put  on  her 
hat  and  went  below. 

"  Where  has  Carrie  gone? "  asked  Hanson,  coming 
back  into  the  dining-room  when  he  heard  the  door  close. 

"  She  said  she  was  going  down  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs," 
answered  Minnie.  "  I  guess  she  just  wants  to  look  out 
a  while." 

"  She  oughtn't  to  be  thinking  about  spending  her 
money  on  theatres  already,  do  you  think?  "  he  said. 

"  She  just  feels  a  little  curious,  I  guess,"  ventured 
Minnie.     "  Everything  is  so  new." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Hanson,  and  went  over  to  the 
baby,  his  forehead  slightly  wrinkled. 

He  was  thinking  of  a  full  career  of  vanity  and  wasteful- 
ness which  a  young  girl  might  indulge  in,  and  wondering 
how  Carrie  could  contemplate  such  a  course  when  she 
had  so  little,  as  yet,  with  which  to  do. 

On  Saturday  Carrie  went  out  by  herself — first  toward 
the  river,  which  interested  her,  and  then  back  along  Jack- 
son Street,  which  was  then  lined  by  the  pretty  houses  and 
fine  lawns  which  subsequently  caused  it  to  be  made  into 


SISTER   CARRIE  37 

a  boulevard.  She  was  struck  with  the  evidences  of  wealth, 
although  there  was,  perhaps,  not  a  person  on  the  street 
worth  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  She  was 
glad  to  be  out  of  the  fiat,  because  already  she  felt  that  it 
was  a  narrow,  humdrum  place,  and  that  interest  and  joy 
lay  elsewhere.  Her  thoughts  now  were  of  a  more  liberal 
character,  and  she  punctuated  them  with  speculations  as 
to  the  whereabouts  of  Drouet.  She  was  not  sure  but  that 
he  might  call  anyhow  Monday  night,  and,  while  she  felt 
a  little  disturbed  at  the  possibility,  there  was,  neverthe- 
less, just  the  shade  of  a  wish  that  he  would. 

On  Monday  she  arose  early  and  prepared  to  go  to  work. 
She  dressed  herself  in  a  worn  shirt-waist  of  dotted  blue 
percale,  a  skirt  of  light-brown  serge  rather  faded,  and  a 
small  straw  hat  which  she  had  worn  all  summer  at  Colum- 
bia City.  Her  shoes  were  old,  and  her  necktie  was  in 
that  crumpled,  flattened  state  which  time  and  much  wear- 
ing impart.  She  made  a  very  average  looking  shop-girl 
with  the  exception  of  her  features.  These  were  slightly 
more  even  than  common,  and  gave  her  a  sweet,  reserved, 
and  pleasing  appearance. 

It  is  no  easy  thing  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning  when 
one  is  used  to  sleeping  until  seven  and  eight,' as  Carrie  had 
been  at  home.  She  gained  some  inkling  of  the  character 
of  Hanson's  life  when,  half  asleep,  she  looked  out  into 
the  dining-room  at  six  o'clock  and  saw  him  silently  fin- 
ishing his  breakfast.  By  the  time  she  was  dressed  he  was 
gone,  and  she,  Minnie,  and  the  baby  ate  together,  the  lat- 
ter being  just  old  enough  to  sit  in  a  high  chair  and  disturb 
the  dishes  with  a  spoon.  Her  spirits  were  greatly  sub- 
dued now  when  the  fact  of  entering  upon  strange  and  un- 
tried duties  confronted  her.  Only  the  ashes  of  all  her 
fine  fancies  were  remaining — ashes  still  concealing,  never- 
theless, a  few  red  embers  of  hope.  So  subdued  was  she 
by  her  weakening  nerves,  that  she  ate  quite  in  silence, 


38  SISTER  CARRIE 

going  over  imaginary  conceptions  of  the  character  of  the 
shoe  company,  the  nature  of  the  work,  her  employer's  atti- 
tude. She  was  vaguely  feeling  that  she  would  come  in 
contact  with  the  great  owners,  that  her  work  would  be 
where  grave,  stylishly  dressed  men  occasionally  look  on. 

"  Well,  good  luck,"  said  Minnie,  when  she  was  ready 
to  go.  They  had  agreed  it  was  best  to  walk,  that  morning 
at  least,  to  see  if  she  could  do  it  every  day — sixty  cents  a 
week  for  car  fare  being  quite  an  item  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  it  goes  to-night,"  said  Carrie. 

Once  in  the  sunlit  street,  with  labourers  tramping  by  in 
either  direction,  the  horse-cars  passing  crowded  to  the 
rails  with  the  small  clerks  and  floor  help  in  the  great 
wholesale  houses,  and  men  and  women  generally  coming 
out  of  doors  and  passing  about  the  neighbourhood,  Carrie 
felt  slightly  reassured.  In  the  sunshine  of  the  morning, 
beneath  the  wide,  blue  heavens,  with  a  fresh  wind  astir, 
what  fears,  except  the  most  desperate,  can  find  a  harbour- 
age? In  the  night,  or  the  gloomy  chambers  of  the  day, 
fears  and  misgivings  wax  strong,  but  out  in  the  sunlight 
there  is,  for  a  time,  cessation  even  of  the  terror  of  death. 

Carrie  went  straight  forward  until  she  crossed  the  river, 
and  then  turned  into  Fifth  Avenue.  The  thoroughfare, 
in  this  part,  was  like  a  walled  canon  of  brown  stone  and 
dark  red  brick.  The  big  windows  looked  shiny  and  clean. 
Trucks  were  rumbling  in  increasing  numbers;  men  and 
women,  girls  and  boys  were  moving  onward  in  all  direc- 
tions. She  met  girls  of  her  own  age,  who  looked  at  her 
as  if  with  contempt  for  her  diffidence.  She  wondered  at 
the  magnitude  of  this  life  and  at  the  importance  of  know- 
ing much  in  order  to  do  anything  in  it  at  all.  Dread  at 
her  own  inefficiency  crept  upon  her.  She  would  not 
know  how,  she  would  not  be  quick  enough.  Had  not  all 
the  other  places  refused  her  because  she  did  not  know 


SISTER   CARRIE  39 

something  or  other?  She  would  be  scolded,  abused,  igno- 
miniously  discharged. 

It  was  with  weak  knees  and  a  slight  catch  in  her  breath- 
ing that  she  came  up  to  the  great  shoe  company  at  Adams 
and  Fifth  Avenue  and  entered  the  elevator.  When  she 
stepped  out  on  the  fourth  floor  there  was  no  one  at  hand, 
only  great  aisles  of  boxes  piled  to  the  ceiling.  She  stood, 
very  much  frightened,  awaiting  some  one. 

Presently  Mr.  Brown  came  up.  He  did  not  seem  to 
recognise  her. 

"  What  is  it  you  want?  "  he  inquired. 

Carrie's  heart  sank. 

"  You  said  I  should  come  this  morning  to  see  about 
work " 

"  Oh,"  he  interrupted.  "  Um — yes.  What  is  your 
name?" 

"  Carrie  Meeber." 

"  Yes,"  said  he.     "  You  come  with  me." 

He  led  the  way  through  dark,  box-lined  aisles  which 
had  the  smell  of  new  shoes,  until  they  came  to  an  iron 
door  which  opened  into  the  factory  proper.  There  was  a 
large,  low-ceiled  room,  with  clacking,  rattling  machines 
at  which  men  in  white  shirt  sleeves  and  blue  gingham 
aprons  were  working.  She  followed  him  diffidently 
through  the  clattering  automatons,  keeping  her  eyes 
straight  before  her,  and  flushing  slightly.  They  crossed 
to  a  far  corner  and  took  an  elevator  to  the  sixth  floor. 
Out  of  the  array  of  machines  and  benches,  Mr.  Brown 
signalled  a  foreman. 

"  This  is  the  girl,"  he  said,  and  turning  to  Carrie,  "  You 
go  with  him."  He  then  returned,  and  Carrie  followed  her 
new  superior  to  a  little  desk  in  a  corner,  which  he  used 
as  a  kind  of  official  centre. 

"  You've  never  worked  at  anything  like  this  before, 
have  you?"  he  questioned,  rather  sternly. 


40  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  No,  sir,"  she  answered. 

He  seemed  rather  annoyed  at  having  to  bother  with 
such  help,  but  put  down  her  name  and  then  led  her  across 
to  where  a  line  of  girls  occupied  stools  in  front  of  clacking 
machines.  On  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  girls  who  was 
punching  eye-holes  in  one  piece  of  the  upper,  by  the  aid 
of  the  machine,  he  put  his  hand. 

"  You,"  he  said,  "  show  this  girl  how  to  do  what  you're 
doing.     When  you  get  through,  come  to  me." 

The  girl  so  addressed  rose  promptly  and  gave  Carrie 
her  place. 

"  It  isn't  hard  to  do,"  she  said,  bending  over.  "  You 
just  take  this  so,  fasten  it  with  this  clamp,  and  start  the 
machine." 

She  suited  action  to  word,  fastened  the  piece  of  leather, 
which  was  eventually  to  form  the  right  half  of  the  upper 
of  a  man's  shoe,  by  little  adjustable  clamps,  and  pushed 
a  small  steel  rod  at  the  side  of  the  machine.  The  latter 
jumped  to  the  task  of  punching,  with  sharp,  snapping 
clicks,  cutting  circular  bits  of  leather  out  of  the  side  of  the 
upper,  leaving  the  holes  which  were  to  hold  the  laces. 
After  observing  a  few  times,  the  girl  let  her  work  at  it 
alone.     Seeing  that  it  was  fairly  well  done,  she  went  away. 

The  pieces  of  leather  came  from  the  girl  at  the  machine 
to  her  right,  and  were  passed  on  to  the  girl  at  her  left. 
Carrie  saw  at  once  that  an  average  speed  was  necessary 
or  the  work  would  pile  up  on  her  and  all  those  below 
would  be  delayed.  She  had  no  time  to  look  about,  and 
bent  anxiously  to  her  task.  The  girls  at  her  left  and  right 
realised  her  predicament  and  feelings,  and,  in  a  way,  tried 
to  aid  her,  as  much  as  they  dared,  by  working  slower. 

At  this  task  she  laboured  incessantly  for  some  time, 
finding  relief  from  her  own  nervous  fears  and  imaginings 
in  the  humdrum,  mechanical  movement  of  the  machine. 
She  felt,  as  the  minutes  passed,  that  the  room  was  not  very 


SISTER   CARRIE  41 

light.  It  had  a  thick  odour  of  fresh  leather,  but  that  did 
not  worry  her.  She  felt  the  eyes  of  the  other  help  upon 
her,  and  troubled  lest  she  was  not  working  fast  enough. 

Once,  when  she  was  fumbling  at  the  little  clamp,  having 
made  a  slight  error  in  setting  in  the  leather,  a  great  hand 
appeared  before  her  eyes  and  fastened  the  clamp  for  her. 
It  was  the  foreman.  Her  heart  thumped  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  see  to  go  on. 

"  Start  your  machine,"  he  said,  "  start  your  machine. 
Don't  keep  the  line  waiting." 

This  recovered  her  sufficiently  and  she  went  excitedly 
on,  hardly  breathing  until  the  shadow  moved  away  from 
behind  her.     Then  she  heaved  a  great  breath. 

As  the  morning  wore  on  the  room  became  hotter.  She 
felt  the  need  of  a  breath  of  fresh  air  and  a  drink  of  water, 
but  did  not  venture  to  stir.  The  stool  she  sat  on  was 
without  a  back  or  foot-rest,  and  she  began  to  feel  uncom- 
fortable. She  found,  after  a  time,  that  her  back  was  be- 
ginning to  ache.  She  twisted  and  turned  from  one  posi- 
tion to  another  slightly  different,  but  it  did  not  ease  her 
for  long.     She  was  beginning  to  weary. 

"  Stand  up,  why  don't  you  ?  "  said  the  girl  at  her  right, 
without  any  form  of  introduction.     "  They  won't  care." 

Carrie  looked  at  her  gratefully.  "  I  guess  I  will,"  she 
said. 

She  stood  up  from  her  stool  and  worked  that  way  for  a 
while,  but  it  was  a  more  difficult  position.  Her  neck  and 
shoulders  ached  in  bending  over. 

The  spirit  of  the  place  impressed  itself  on  her  in  a  rough 
way.  She  did  not  venture  to  look  around,  but  above  the 
clack  of  the  machine  she  could  hear  an  occasional  remark. 
She  could  also  note  a  thing  or  two  out  of  the  side  of  her 
eye. 

"  Did  you  see  Harry  last  night?  "  said  the  girl  at  her 
left,  addressing  her  neighbour. 


42  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  No." 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  the  tie  he  had  on.  Gee,  but 
he  was  a  mark." 

"  S-s-t,"  said  the  other  girl,  bending  over  her  work. 
The  first,  silenced,  instantly  assumed  a  solemn  face.  The 
foreman  passed  slowly  along,  eyeing  each  worker  dis- 
tinctly. The  moment  he  was  gone,  the  conversation  was 
resumed  again. 

"  Say,"  began  the  girl  at  her  left,  "  what  jeh  think  he 
said?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  He  said  he  saw  us  with  Eddie  Harris  at  Martin's  last 
night." 

"No!"'    They  both  giggled. 

A  youth  with  tan-coloured  hair,  that  needed  clipping 
very  badly,  came  shuffling  along  between  the  machines, 
bearing  a  basket  of  leather  findings  under  his  left  arm, 
and  pressed  against  his  stomach.  When  near  Carrie,  he 
stretched  out  his  right  hand  and  gripped  one  girl  under 
the  arm. 

"  Aw,  let  me  go,"  she  exclaimed  angrily.     "  Duffer." 

He  only  grinned  broadly  in  return. 

"  Rubber ! "  he  called  back  as  she  looked  after  him. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  gallant  in  him. 

Carrie  at  last  could  scarcely  sit  still.  Her  legs  began 
to  tire  and  she  wanted  to  get  up  and  stretch.  Would  noon 
never  come?  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  worked  an  entire 
day.  She  was  not  hungry  at  all,  but  weak,  and  her  eyes 
were  tired,  straining  at  the  one  point  where  the  eye-punch 
came  down.  The  girl  at  the  right  noticed  her  squirmings 
and  felt  sorry  for  her.  She  was  concentrating  herself  too 
thoroughly — what  she  did  really  required  less  mental  and 
physical  strain.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  however. 
The  halves  of  the  uppers  came  piling  steadily  down.  Her 
hands  began  to  ache  at  the  wrists  and  then  in  the  fingers, 


SISTER  CARRIE 


43 


and  towards  the  last  she  seemed  one  mass  of  dull,  com- 
plaining muscles,  fixed  in  an  eternal  position  and  per- 
forming a  single  mechanical  movement  which  became 
more  and  more  distasteful,  until  at  last  it  was  absolutely 
nauseating.  When  she  was  wondering  whether  the  strain 
would  ever  cease,  a  dull-sounding  bell  clanged  somewhere 
down  an  elevator  shaft,  and  the  end  came.  In  an  instant 
there  was  a  buzz  of  action  and  conversation.  All  the  girls 
instantly  left  their  stools  and  hurried  away  in  an  adjoin- 
ing room,  men  passed  through,  coming  from  some  depart- 
ment which  opened  on  the  right.  The  whirling  wheels 
began  to  sing  in  a  steadily  modifying  key,  until  at  last  they 
died  away  in  a  low  buzz.  There  was  an  audible  stillness, 
in  which  the  common  voice  sounded  strange. 

Carrie  got  up  and  sought  her  lunch  box.  She  was  stiff, 
a  little  dizzy,  and  very  thirsty.  On  the  way  to  the  small 
space  portioned  off  by  wood,  where  all  the  wraps  and 
lunches  were  kept,  she  encountered  the  foreman,  who 
stared  at  her  hard. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  did  you  get  along  all  right?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  she  replied,  very  respectfully. 

"  Um,"  he  replied,  for  want  of  something  better,  and 
walked  on. 

Under  better  material  conditions,  this  kind  of  work 
would  not  have  been  so  bad,  but  the  new  socialism 
which  involves  pleasant  working  conditions  for  em- 
ployees had  not  then  taken  hold  upon  manufacturing 
companies. 

The  place  smelled  of  the  oil  of  the  machines  and  the  new 
leather — a  combination  which,  added  to  the  stale  odours 
of  the  building,  was  not  pleasant  even  in  cold  weather. 
The  floor,  though  regularly  swept  every  evening,  pre- 
sented a  littered  surface.  Not  the  slightest  provision  had 
been  made  for  the  comfort  of  the  employees,  the  idea 
being  that  something  was  gained  by  giving  them  as  little 


44  SISTER  CARRIE 

and  making  the  work  as  hard  and  unremunerative  as  pos- 
sible. What  we  know  of  foot-rests,  swivel-back  chairs, 
dining-rooms  for  the  girls,  clean  aprons  and  curling  irons 
supplied  free,  and  a  decent  cloak  room,  were  unthought 
of.  The  washrooms  were  disagreeable,  crude,  if  not  foul 
places,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  was  sordid. 

Carrie  looked  about  her,  after  she  had  drunk  a  tinful  of 
water  from  a  bucket  in  one  corner,  for  a  place  to  sit  and 
eat.  The  other  girls  had  ranged  themselves  about  the 
windows  or  the  work-benches  of  those  of  the  men  who  had 
gone  out.  She  saw  no  place  which  did  not  hold  a  couple 
or  a  group  of  girls,  and  being  too  timid  to  think  of  intrud- 
ing herself,  she  sought  out  her  machine  and,  seated  upon 
her  stool,  opened  her  lunch  on  her  lap.  There  she  sat 
listening  to  the  chatter  and  comment  about  her.  It  was, 
for  the  most  part,  silly  and  graced  by  the  current  slang. 
Several  of  the  men  in  the  room  exchanged  compliments 
with  the  girls  at  long  range. 

"  Say,  Kitty,"  called  one  to  a  girl  who  was  doing  a  waltz 
step  in  a  few  feet  of  space  near  one  of  the  windows,  "  are 
you  going  to  the  ball  with  me?  " 

"  Look  out,  Kitty,"  called  another,  "  you'll  jar  your 
back  hair." 

"  <^o  on,  Rubber,"  was  her  only  comment. 

As  Carrie  listened  to  this  and  much  more  of  similar 
familiar  badinage  among  the  men  and  girls,  she  instinc- 
tively withdrew  into  herself.  She  was  not  used  to  this 
type,  and  felt  that  there  was  something  hard  and  low 
about  it  all.  She  feared  that  the  young  boys  about  would 
address  such  remarks  to  her — boys  who,  beside  Drouet, 
seemed  uncouth  and  ridiculous.  She  made  the  average 
feminine  distinction  between  clothes,  putting  worth, 
goodness,  and  distinction  in  a  dress  suit,  and  leaving  all 
the  unlovely  qualities  and  those  beneath  notice  in  overalls 
and  jumper. 


SISTER   CARRIE  45 

She  was  glad  when  the  short  half  hour  was  over  and 
the  wheels  began  to  whirr  again.  Though  wearied,  she 
would  be  inconspicuous.  This  illusion  ended  when  an- 
other young  man  passed  along  the  aisle  and  poked  her 
indifferently  in  the  ribs  with  his  thumb.  She  turned 
about,  indignation  leaping  to  her  eyes,  but  he  had  gone 
on  and  only  once  turned  to  grin.  She  found  it  difficult  to 
conquer  an  inclination  to  cry. 

The  girl  next  her  noticed  her  state  of  mind.  "  Don't 
you  mind,"  she  said.     "  He's  too  fresh." 

Carrie  said  nothing,  but  bent  over  her  work.  She  felt 
as  though  she  could  hardly  endure  such  a  life.  Her  idea 
of  work  had  been  so  entirely  different.  All  during  the 
long  afternoon  she  thought  of  the  city  outside  and  its  im- 
posing show,  crowds,  and  fine  buildings.  Columbia  City 
and  the  better  side  of  her  home  life  came  back.  By  three 
o'clock  she  was  sure  it  must  be  six,  and  by  four  it  seemed 
as  if  they  had  forgotten  to  note  the  hour  and  were  letting 
all  work  overtime.  The  foreman  became  a  true  ogre, 
prowling  constantly  about,  keeping  her  tied  down  to  her 
miserable  task.  What  she  heard  of  the  conversation 
about  her  only  made  her  feel  sure  that  she  did  not  want 
to  make  friends  with  any  of  these.  When  six  o'clock 
came  she  hurried  eagerly  away,  her  arms  aching  and  her 
limbs  stiff  from  sitting  in  one  position. 

As  she  passed  out  along  the  hall  after  getting  her  hat, 
a  young  machine  hand,  attracted  by  her  looks,  made  bold 
to  jest  with  her. 

"  Say,  Maggie,"  he  called,  "  if  you  wait,  I'll  walk  with 
you." 

It  was  thrown  so  straight  in  her  direction  that  she  knew 
who  was  meant,  but  never  turned  to  look. 

In  the  crowded  elevator,  another  dusty,  toil-stained 
youth  tried  to  make  an  impression  on  her  by  leering  in 
her  face. 


46  SISTER  CARRIE 

One  young  man,  waiting  on  the  walk  outside  for  the 
appearance  of  another,  grinned  at  her  as  she  passed. 

"  Ain't  going  my  way,  are  you?  "  he  called  jocosely. 

Carrie  turned  her  face  to  the  west  with  a  subdued  heart. 
As  she  turned  the  corner,  she  saw  through  the  great  shiny 
window  the  small  desk  at  which  she  had  applied.  There 
were  the  crowds,  hurrying  with  the  same  buzz  and  energy- 
yielding  enthusiasm.  She  felt  a  slight  relief,  but  it  was 
only  at  her  escape.  She  felt  ashamed  in  the  face  of  better 
dressed  girls  who  went  by.  She  felt  as  though  she  should 
be  better  served,  and  her  heart  revolted. 


CHAPTER   V 

A  GLITTERING  NIGHT  FLOWER:  THE  USE  OF  A  NAME 

Drouet  did  not  call  that  evening.  After  receiving  the 
letter,  he  had  laid  aside  all  thought  of  Carrie  for  the  time 
being  and  was  floating  around  having  what  he  considered 
a  gay  time.  On  this  particular  evening  he  dined  at  "  Rec- 
tor's," a  restaurant  of  some  local  fame,  which  occupied  a 
basement  at  Clark  and  Monroe  Streets.  Thereafter  he 
visited  the  resort  of  Fitzgerald  and  Moy's  in  Adams 
Street,  opposite  the  imposing  Federal  Building.  There 
he  leaned  over  the  splendid  bar  and  swallowed  a  glass  of 
plain  whiskey  and  purchased  a  couple  of  cigars,  one  of 
which  he  lighted.  This  to  him  represented  in  part  high 
life — a  fair  sample  of  what  the  whole  must  be. 

Drouet  was  not  a  drinker  in  excess.  He  was  not  a 
moneyed  man.  He  only  craved  the  best,  as  his  mind  con- 
ceived it,  and  such  doings  seemed  to  him  a  part  of  the  best. 
Rector's,  with  its  polis'hed  marble  walls  and  floor,  its  pro- 
fusion of  lights,  its  show  of  china  and  silverware,  and, 
above  all,  its  reputation  as  a  resort  for  actors  and  profes- 
sional men,  seemed  to  him  the  proper  place  for  a  success- 
ful man  to  go.  He  loved  fine  clothes,  good  eating,  and 
particularly  the  company  and  acquaintanceship  of  suc- 
cessful men.  When  dining,  it  was  a  source  of  keen  satis- 
faction to  him  to  know  that  Joseph  Jefferson  was  wont  to 
come  to  this  same  place,  or  that  Henry  E.  Dixie,  a  welK 
known  performer  of  the  day,  was  then  only  a  few  tables 
off.     At  Rector's  he  could  always  obtain  this  satisfaction, 


48  SISTER  CARRIE 

for  there  one  could  encounter  politicians,  brokers,  actors, 
some  rich  young  "  rounders  "  of  the  town,  all  eating  and 
drinking  amid  a  buzz  of  popular  commonplace  conver- 
sation. 

"  That's  So-and-so  over  there,"  was  a  common  remark 
of  these  gentlemen  among  themselves,  particularly  among 
those  who  had  not  yet  reached,  but  hoped  to  do  so,  the 
dazzling  height  which  money  to  dine  here  lavishly  repre- 
sented. 

"  You  don't  say  so,"  would  be  the  reply. 

"  Why,  yes,  didn't  you  know  that?  Why,  he's  manager 
of  the  Grand  Opera  House." 

When  these  things  would  fall  upon  Drouet's  ears,  he 
would  straighten  himself  a  little  more  stiffly  and  eat  with 
solid  comfort.  If  he  had  any  vanity,  this  augmented  it, 
and  if  he  had  any  ambition,  this  stirred  it.  He  would 
be  able  to  flash  a  roll  of  greenbacks  too  some  day.  As  it 
was,  he  could  eat  where  they  did. 

His  preference  for  Fitzgerald  and  Moy's  Adams  Street 
place  was  another  yard  off  the  same  cloth.  This  was  really 
a  gorgeous  saloon  from  a  Chicago  standpoint.  Like 
Rector's,  it  was  also  ornamented  with  a  blaze  of  incan- 
descent lights,  held  in  handsome  chandeliers.  The  floors 
were  of  brightly  coloured  tiles,  the  walls  a  composition  of 
rich,  dark,  polished  wood,  which  reflected  the  light,  and 
coloured  stucco-work,  which  gave  the  place  a  very  sump- 
tuous appearance.  The  long  bar  was  a  blaze  of  lights, 
polished  wood-work,  coloured  and  cut  glassware,  and 
many  fancy  bottles.  It  was  a  truly  swell  saloon,  with  rich 
screens,  fancy  wines,  and  a  line  of  bar  goods  unsurpassed 
in  the  country. 

At  Rector's,  Drouet  had  met  Mr.  G.  W.  Hurst- 
wood,  manager  of  Fitzgerald  and  Moy's.  He  had  been 
pointed  out  as  a  very  successful  and  well-known  man 
about  town.     Hurstwood  looked  the  part,  for,  besides 


SISTER   CARRIE  49 

being  slightly  under  forty,  he  had  a  good,  stout  consti- 
tution, an  active  manner,  and  a  solid,  substantial  air, 
which  was  composed  in  part  of  his  fine  clothes,  his  clean 
linen,  his  jewels,  and,  above  all,  his  own  sense  of  his  im- 
portance. Drouet  immediately  conceived  a  notion  of  him 
as  being  some  one  worth  knowing,  and  was  glad  not  only 
to  meet  him,  but  to  visit  the  Adams  Street  bar  thereafter 
whenever  he  wanted  a  drink  or  a  cigar. 

Hurstwood  was  an  interesting  character  after  his  kind. 
He  was  shrewd  and  clever  in  many  little  things,  and  capa- 
ble of  creating  a  good  impression.  His  managerial  posi- 
tion was  fairly  important — a  kind  of  stewardship  which 
was  imposing,  but  lacked  financial  control.  He  had  risen 
by  perseverance  and  industry,  through  long  years  of  ser- 
vice, from  the  position  of  barkeeper  in  a  commonplace 
saloon  to  his  present  altitude.  He  had  a  little  office  in  the 
place,  set  off  in  polished  cherry  and  grill-work,  where  he 
kept,  in  a  roll-top  desk,  the  rather  simple  accounts  of  the 
place — supplies  ordered  and  needed.  The  chief  execu- 
tive and  financial  functions  devolved  upon  the  owners — 
Messrs.  Fitzgerald  and  Moy — and  upon  a  cashier  who 
looked  after  the  money  taken  in. 

For  the  most  part  he  lounged  about,  dressed  in  excel- 
lent tailored  suits  of  imported  goods,  a  solitaire  ring,  a  fine 
blue  diamond  in  his  tie,  a  striking  vest  of  some  new  pat- 
tern, and  a  watch-chain  of  solid  gold,  which  held  a  charm 
of  rich  design,  and  a  watch  of  the  latest  make  and  engrav- 
ing. He  knew  by  name,  and  could  greet  personally  with 
a  "  Well,  old  fellow,"  hundreds  of  actors,  merchants,  poli- 
ticians, and  the  general  run  of  successful  characters  about 
town,  and  it  was  part  of  his  success  to  do  so.  He  had  a 
finely  graduated  scale  of  informality  and  friendship,  which 
improved  from  the  "  How  do  you  do?  "  addressed  to  the 
fifteen-dollar-a-week  clerks  and  office  attaches,  who,  by 
long  frequenting  of  the  place,  became  aware  of  his  posi- 

4 


50  SISTER  CARRIE 

tion,  to  the  "Why,  old  man,  how  are  you?"  which  he 
addressed  to  those  noted  or  rich  individuals  who  knew 
him  and  were  inclined  to  be  friendly.  There  was  a  class, 
however,  too  rich,  too  famous,  or  too  successful,  with 
whom  he  could  not  attempt  any  familiarity  of  address,  and 
with  these  he  was  professionally  tactful,  assuming  a  grave 
and  dignified  attitude,  paying  them  the  deference  which 
would  win  their  good  feeling  without  in  the  least  com- 
promising his  own  bearing  and  opinions.  There  were,  in 
the  last  place,  a  few  good  followers,  neither  rich  nor  poor, 
famous,  nor  yet  remarkably  successful,  with  whom  he  was 
friendly  on  the  score  of  good-fellowship.  These  were  the 
kind  of  men  with  whom  he  would  converse  longest  and 
most  seriously.  He  loved  to  go  out  and  have  a  good  time 
once  in  a  while — to  go  to  the  races,  the  theatres,  the  sport- 
ing entertainments  at  some  of  the  clubs.  He  kept  a  horse 
and  neat  trap,  had  his  wife  and  two  children,  who  were 
well  established  in  a  neat  house  on  the  North  Side  near 
Lincoln  Park,  and  was  altogether  a  very  acceptable  indi- 
vidual of  our  great  American  upper  class — the  first  grade 
below  the  luxuriously  rich. 

Hurstwood  liked  Drouet.  The  latter's  genial  nature 
and  dressy  appearance  pleased  him.  He  knew  that 
Drouet  was  only  a  travelling  salesman — and  not  one  of 
many  years  at  that — but  the  firm  of  Bartlett,  Caryoe  & 
Company  was  a  large  and  prosperous  house,  and  Drouet 
stood  well.  Hurstwood  knew  Caryoe  quite  well,  having 
drunk  a  glass  now  and  then  with  him,  in  company  with 
several  others,  when  the  conversation  was  general. 
Drouet  had  what  was  a  help  in  his  business,  a  moderate 
sense  of  humour,  and  could  tell  a  good  story  when  the  oc- 
casion required.  He  could  talk  races  with  Hurstwood, 
tell  interesting  incidents  concerning  himself  and  his  ex- 
periences with  women,  and  report  the  state  of  trade  in  the 
cities  which  he  visited,  and  so  managed  to  make  himself 


SISTER  CARRIE  5 1 

almost  invariably  agreeable.  To-night  he  was  particularly 
so,  since  his  report  to  the  company  had  been  favour- 
ably commented  upon,  his  new  samples  had  been  satis- 
factorily selected,  and  his  trip  marked  out  for  the  next 
six  weeks. 

"  Why,  hello,  Charlie,  old  man,"  said  Hurstwood,  as 
Drouet  came  in  that  evening  about  eight  o'clock.  "  How 
goes  it?  "     The  room  was  crowded. 

Drouet  shook  hands,  beaming  good  nature,  and  they 
strolled  towards  the  bar. 

"  Oh,  all  right." 

"  I  haven't  seen  you  in  six  weeks.  When  did  you  get 
in?" 

"  Friday,"  said  Drouet.     "  Had  a  fine  trip." 

"  Glad  of  it,"  said  Hurstwood,  his  black  eyes  lit  with  a 
warmth  which  half  displaced  the  cold  make-believe  that 
usually  dwelt  in  them.  "  What  are  you  going  to  take?  " 
he  added,  as  the  barkeeper,  in  snowy  jacket  and  tie,  leaned 
toward  them  from  behind  the  bar. 

"Old  Pepper,"  said  Drouet. 

"  A  little  of  the  same  for  me,"  put  in  Hurstwood. 

"How  long  are  you  in  town  this  time?"  inquired 
Hurstwood. 

"  Only  until  Wednesday.     I'm  going  up  to  St.  Paul." 

"  George  Evans  was  in  here  Saturday  and  said  he  saw 
you  in  Milwaukee  last  week." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  George,"  returned  Drouet.  "  Great  old 
boy,  isn't  he  ?    We  had  quite  a  time  there  together." 

The  barkeeper  was  setting  out  the  glasses  and  bottle 
before  them,  and  they  now  poured  out  the  draught  as  they 
talked,  Drouet  filling  his  to  within  a  third  of  full,  as  was 
considered  proper,  and  Hurstwood  taking  the  barest  sug- 
gestion of  whiskey  and  modifying  it  with  seltzer. 

"  What's  become  of  Caryoe?  "  remarked  Hurstwood. 
"  I  haven't  seen  him  around  here  in  two  weeks." 


%2  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Laid  up,  they  say,"  exclaimed  Drouet.  "  Say,  he's  a 
gouty  old  boy !  " 

"  Made  a  lot  of  money  in  his  time,  though,  hasn't  he  ?" 

"  Yes,  wads  of  it,"  returned  Drouet.  "  He  won't  live 
much  longer.     Barely  comes  down  to  the  office  now." 

"Just  one  boy,  hasn't  he?"  asked  Hurstwood. 

"  Yes,  and  a  swift-pacer,"  laughed  Drouet. 

"  I  guess  he  can't  hurt  the  business  very  much,  though, 
with  the  other  members  all  there." 

"  No,  he  can't  injure  that  any,  I  guess." 

Hurstwood  was  standing,  his  coat  open,  his  thumbs  in 
his  pockets,  the  light  on  his  jewels  and  rings  relieving 
them  with  agreeable  distinctness.  He  was  the  picture  of 
fastidious  comfort. 

To  one  not  inclined  to  drink,  and  gifted  with  a  more 
serious  turn  of  mind,  such  a  bubbling,  chattering,  glitter- 
ing chamber  must  ever  seem  an  anomaly,  a  strange  com- 
mentary on  nature  and  life.  Here  come  the  moths,  in 
endless  procession,  to  bask  in  the  light  of  the  flame.  Such 
conversation  as  one  may  hear  would  not  warrant  a  com- 
mendation of  the  scene  upon  intellectual  grounds.  It 
seems  plain  that  schemers  would  choose  more  sequestered 
quarters  to  arrange  their  plans,  that  politicians  would  not 
gather  here  in  company  to  discuss  anything  save  formali- 
ties,, where  the  sharp-eared  may  hear,  and  it  would 
scarcely  be  justified  on  the  score  of  thirst,  for  the  majority 
of  those  who  frequent  these  more  gorgeous  places  have 
no  craving  for  liquor.  'Nevertheless,  the  fact  that  here1 
men  gather,  here  chatter,  here  love  to  pass  and  rub  elbows, 
must  be  explained  upon  some  grounds.  It  must  be  that 
a  strange  bundle  of  passions  and  vague  desires  give  rise 
to  such  a  curious  social  institution  or  it  would  not  be. 

Drouet,  for  one,  was  lured  as  much  by  his  longing  for 
pleasure  as  by  his  desire  to  shine  among  his  betters.  The 
many  friends  he  met  here  dropped  in  because  they  craved, 


SISTER   CARRIE  53 

without,  perhaps,  consciously  analysing  it,  the  company, 
the  glow,  the  atmosphere  which  they  found.  One  might 
take  it,  after  all,  as  an  augur  of  the  better  social  order,  for 
the  things  which  they  satisfied  here,  though  sensory,  were 
not  evil.  No  evil  could  come  out  of  the  contemplation  of 
an  expensively  decorated  chamber.  The  worst  effect  of 
such  a  thing  would  be,  perhaps,  to  stir  up  in  the  material- 
minded  an  ambition  to  arrange  their  lives  upon  a  similarly 
splendid  basis.  In  the  last  analysis,  that  would  scarcely 
be  called  the  fault  of  the  decorations,  but  rather  of  the  in- 
nate trend  of  the  mind.  That  such  a  scene  might  stir  the 
less  expensively  dressed  to  emulate  the  more  expensively 
dressed  could  scarcely  be  laid  at  the  door  of  anything  save 
the  false  ambition  of  the  minds  of  those  so  affected.  Re- 
move the  element  so  thoroughly  and  solely  complained 
of — liquor — and  there  would  not  be  one  to  gainsay  the 
qualities  of  beauty  and  enthusiasm  which  would  remain. 
The  pleased  eye  with  which  our  modern  restaurants-  of 
fashion  are  looked  upon  is  proof  of  this  assertion. 

Yet,  here  is  the  fact  of  the  lighted  chamber,  the  dressy, 
greedy  company,  the  small,  self-interested  palaver,  the 
disorganized,  aimless,  wandering  mental  action  which  it 
represents — the  love  of  light  and  show  and  finery  which, 
to  one  outside,  under  the  serene  light  of  the  eternal  stars, 
must  seem  a  strange  and  shiny  thing.  Under  the  stars 
and  sweeping  night  winds,  what  a  lamp-flower  it  must 
bloom;  a  strange,  glittering  night-flower,  odour-yielding, 
insect-drawing,  insect-infested  rose  of  pleasure. 

"  See  that  fellow  coming  in  there  ?  "  said  Hurstwood, 
glancing  at  a  gentleman  just  entering,  arrayed  in  a  high 
hat  and  Prince  Albert  coat,  his  fat  cheeks  puffed  and  red 
as  with  good  eating. 

"  No,  where?  "  said  Dr'ouet. 

"  There,"  said  Hurstwood,  indicating  the  direction  by 
a  cast  of  his  eye,  "  the  man  with  the  silk  hat." 


54  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Drouet,  now  affecting  not  to  see. 
"  Who  is  he?  " 

"  That's  Jules  Wallace,  the  spiritualist." 

Drouet  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  much  interested. 

"  Doesn't  look  much  like  a  man  who  sees  spirits,  does 
he?  "  said  Drouet. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Hurstwood.  "  He's  got 
the  money,  all  right,"  and  a  little  twinkle  passed  over  his 
eyes. 

"I  don't  go  much  on  those  things,  do  you?"  asked 
Drouet. 

"  Well,  you  never  can  tell,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  There 
may  be  something  to  it.  I  wouldn't  bother  about  it  my- 
self, though.  By  the  way,"  he  added,  "  are  you  going 
anywhere  to-night?  " 

"  '  The  Hole  in  the  Ground,'  "  said  Drouet,  mentioning 
the  popular  farce  of  the  time. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  be  going.  It's  half  after  eight  al- 
ready," and  he  drew  out  his  watch. 

The  crowd  was  already  thinning  out  considerably — 
some  bound  for  the  theatres,  some  to  their  clubs,  and 
some  to  that  most  fascinating  of  all  the  pleasures — for  the 
type  of  man  there  represented,  at  least — the  ladies. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  Drouet. 

"  Come  around  after  the  show.  I  have  something  I 
want  to  show  you,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  Sure,"  said  Drouet,  elated. 

"  You  haven't  anything  on  hand  for  the  night,  have 
you?  "  added  Hurstwood. 

"  Not  a  thing." 

"  Well,  come  round,  then." 

"  I  struck  a  little  peach  coming  in  on  the  train  Friday," 
remarked  Drouet,  by  way  of  parting.  "  By  George,  that's 
so,  I  must  go  and  call  on  her  before  I  go  away." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  her,"  Hurstwood  remarked. 


SISTER   CARRIE  55 

"  Say,  she  was  a  little  dandy,  I  tell  you,"  went  on  Drouet 
confidentially,  and  trying  to  impress  his  friend. 

"  Twelve  o'clock,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Drouet,  going  out. 

Thus  was  Carrie's  name  bandied  about  in  the  most 
frivolous  and  gay  of  places,  and  that  also  when  the  little 
toiler  was  bemoaning  her  narrow  lot,  which  was  almost 
inseparable  from  the  early  stages  of  this,  her  unfolding 
fate. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  MACHINE  AND  THE  MAIDEN  :  A  KNIGHT  OF  TO-DAY 

At  the  flat  that  evening  Carrie  felt  a  new  phase  of  its 
atmosphere.  The  fact  that  it  was  unchanged,  while  her 
feelings  were  different,  increased  her,  knowledge  of  its 
character.  Minnie,  after  the  good  spirits  Carrie  mani- 
fested at  first,  expected  a  fair  report.  Hanson  supposed 
that  Carrie  would  be  satisfied. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  he  came  in  from  the  hall  in  his  work- 
ing clothes,  and  looked  at  Carrie  through  the  dining-room 
door,  "  how  did  you  make  out?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Carrie,  "  it's  pretty  hard.     I  don't  like  it." 

There  was  an  air  about  her  which  showed  plainer  than 
any  words  that  she  was  both  weary  and  disappointed. 

"  What  sort  of  work  is  it?  "  he  asked,  lingering  a  mo- 
ment as  he  turned  upon  his  heel  to  go  into  the  bathroom. 

"  Running  a  machine,"  answered  Carrie. 

It  was  very  evident  that  it  did  not  concern  him  much, 
save  from  the  side  of  the  flat's  success.  He  was  irritated 
a  shade  because  it  could  not  have  come  about  in  the  throw 
of  fortune  for  Carrie  to  be  pleased. 

Minnie  worked  with  less  elation  than  she  had  just  be- 
fore Carrie  arrived.  The  sizzle  of  the  meat  frying  did  not 
sound  quite  so  pleasing  now  that  Carrie  had  reported  her 
discontent.  To  Carrie,  the  one  relief  of  the  whole  day 
would  have  been  a  jolly  home,  a  sympathetic  reception, 
a  bright  supper  table,  and  some  one  to  say:  "  Oh,  well, 
stand  it  a  little  while.     You  will  get  something  better," 


SISTER   CARRIE  57 

but  now  this  was  ashes.  She  began  to  see  that  they  looked 
upon  her  complaint  as  unwarranted,  and  that  she  was  sup- 
posed to  work  on  and  say  nothing.  She  knew  that  she 
was  to  pay  four  dollars  for  her  board  and  room,  and  now 
she  felt  that  it  would  be  an  exceedingly  gloomy  round, 
living  with  these  people. 

Minnie  was  no  companion  for  her  sister — she  was  too 
old.  Her  thoughts  were  staid  and  solemnly  adapted  to  a 
condition.  If  Hanson  had  any  pleasant  thoughts  or  happy 
feelings  he  concealed  them.  He  seemed  to  do  all  his 
mental  operations  without  the  aid  of  physical  expression. 
He  was  as  still  as  a  deserted  chamber.  Carrie,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  the  blood  of  youth  and  some  imagination. 
Her  day  of  love  and  the  mysteries  of  courtship  were  still 
ahead.  She  could  think  of  things  she  would  like  to  do, 
of  clothes  she  would  like  to  wear,  and  of  places  she  would 
like  to  visit.  These  were  the  things  upon  which  her  mind 
ran,  and  it  was  like  meeting  with  opposition  at  every 
turn  to  find  no  one  here  to  call  forth  or  respond  to  her 
feelings. 

She  had  forgotten,  in  considering  and  explaining  the 
result  of  her  day,  that  Drouet  might  come.  Now,  when 
she  saw  how  unreceptive  these  two  people  were,  she  hoped 
he  would  not.  She  did  not  know  exactly  what  she  would 
do  or  how  she  would  explain  to  Drouet,  if  he  came.  After 
supper  she  changed  her  clothes.  When  she  was  trimly 
dressed  she  was  rather  a  sweet  little  being,  with  large  eyes 
and  a  sad  mouth.  Her  face  expressed  the  mingled  ex- 
pectancy, dissatisfaction,  and  depression  she  felt.  She 
wandered  about  after  the  dishes  were  put  away,  talked  a 
little  with  Minnie,  and  then  decided  to  go  down  and  stand 
in  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  If  Drouet  came,  she 
could  meet  him  there.  Her  face  took  on  the  semblance 
of  a  look  of  happiness  as  she  put  on  her  hat  to  go  below. 

"  Carrie  doesn't  seem  to  like  her  place  very  well,"  said 


58  SISTER  CARRIE 

Minnie  to  her  husband  when  the  latter  came  out,  paper 
in  hand,  to  sit  in  the  dining-room  a  few  minutes. 

"  She  ought  to  keep  it  for  a  time,  anyhow,"  said  Han- 
son.    "  Has  she  gone  downstairs?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Minnie. 

"  I'd  tell  her  to  keep  it  if  I  were  you.  She  might  be 
here  weeks  without  getting  another  one." 

Minnie  said  she  would,  and  Hanson  read  his  paper. 

"If  I  were  you,"  he  said  a  little  later,  "  I  wouldn't  let 
her  stand  in  the  door  down  there.     It  don't  look  good." 

"  I'll  tell  her,"  said  Minnie. 

The  life  of  the  streets  continued  for  a  long  time  to  in- 
terest Carrie.  She  never  wearied  of  wondering  where  the 
people  in  the  cars  were  going  or  what  their  enjoyments 
were.  Her  imagination  trod  a  very  narrow  round,  always 
winding  up  at  points  which  concerned  money,  looks, 
clothes,  or  enjoyment.  She  would  have  a  far-off  thought 
of  Columbia  City  now  and  then,  or  an  irritating  rush  of 
feeling  concerning  her  experiences  of  the  present  day,  but, 
on  the  whole,  the  little  world  about  her  enlisted  her  whole 
attention. 

The  first  floor  of  the  building,  of  which  Hanson's  flat 
was  the  third,  was  occupied  by  a  bakery,  and  to  this,  while 
she  was  standing  there,  Hanson  came  down  to  buy  a  loaf 
of  bread.  She  was  not  aware  of  his  presence  until  he  was 
quite  near  her. 

"  I'm  after  bread,"  was  all  he  said  as  he  passed. 

The  contagion  of  thought  here  demonstrated  itself. 
While  Hanson  really  came  for  bread,  the  thought  dwelt 
with  him  that  now  he  would  see  what  Carrie  was  doing. 
No  sooner  did  he  draw  near  her  with  that  in  mind  than  she 
felt  it.  Of  course,  she  had  no  understanding  of  what  put 
it  into  her  head,  but,  nevertheless,  it  aroused  in  her  the 
first  shade  of  real  antipathy  to  him.  She  knew  now  that 
she  did  not  like  him.     He  was  suspicious. 


SISTER   CARRIE 


59 


A  thought  will  colour  a  world  for  us.  The  flow  of 
Carrie's  meditations  had  been  disturbed,  and  Hanson  had 
not  long  gone  upstairs  before  she  followed.  She  had  real- 
ised with  the  lapse  of  the  quarter  hours  that  Drouet  was 
not  coming,  and  somehow  she  felt  a  little  resentful,  a  little 
as  if  she  had  been  forsaken — was  not  good  enough.  She 
went  upstairs,  where  everything  was  silent.  Minnie  was 
sewing  by  a  lamp  at  the  table.  Hanson  had  already 
turned  in  for  the  night.  In  her  weariness  and  disappoint- 
ment Carrie  did  no  more  than  announce  that  she  was 
going  to  bed. 

"  Yes,  you'd  better,"  returned  Minnie.  "  You've  got 
to  get  up  early,  you  know." 

The  morning  was  no  better.  Hanson  was  just  going 
out  the  door  as  Carrie  came  from  her  room.  Minnie  tried 
to  talk  with  her  during  breakfast,  but  there  was  not  much 
of  interest  which  they  could  mutually  discuss.  As  on  the 
previous  morning,  Carrie  walked  down  town,  for  she  be- 
gan to  realise  now  that  her  four-fifty  would  not  even  allow 
her  car  fare  after  she  paid  her  board.  This  seemed  a 
miserable  arrangement.  But  the  morning  light  swept 
away  the  first  misgivings  of  the  day,  as  morning  light  is 
ever  wont  to  do. 

At  the  shoe  factory  she  put  in  a  long  day,  scarcely 
so  wearisome  as  the  preceding,  but  considerably  less 
novel.  The  head  foreman,  on  his  round,  stopped  by  her 
machine. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Mr.  Brown  hired  me,"  she  replied. 

"  Oh,  he  did,  eh !  "  and  then,  "  See  that  you  keep  things 
going." 

The  machine  girls  impressed  her  even  less  favourably. 
They  seemed  satisfied  with  their  lot,  and  were  in  a  sense 
"  common."  Carrie  had  more  imagination  than  they. 
She  was  not  used  to  slang.     Her  instinct  in  the  matter 


60  SISTER  CARRIE 

of  dress  was  naturally  better.  She  disliked  to  listen  to  the 
girl  next  to  her,  who  was  rather  hardened  by  experience. 

"  I'm  going  to  quit  this,"  she  heard  her  remark  to  her 
neighbour.  "  What  with  the  stipend  and  being  up  late, 
it's  too  much  for  me  health." 

They  were  free  with  the  fellows,  young  and  old,  about 
the  place,  and  exchanged  banter  in  rude  phrases,  which  at 
first  shocked  her.  She  saw  that  she  was  taken  to  be  of 
the  same  sort  and  addressed  accordingly. 

"  Hello,"  remarked  one  of  the  stout-wristed  sole-work- 
ers to  her  at  noon.  "  You're  a  daisy."  He  really  ex- 
pected to  hear  the  common  "  Aw!  go  chase  yourself!  "  in 
return,  and  was  sufficiently  abashed,  by  Carrie's  silently 
moving  away,  to  retreat,  awkwardly  grinning. 

That  night  at  the  flat  she  was  even  more  lonely— the 
dull  situation  was  becoming  harder  to  endure.  She  could 
see  that  the  Hansons  seldom  or  never  had  any  company. 
Standing  at  the  street  door  looking  out,  she  ventured  to 
walk  out  a  little  way.  Her  easy  gait  and  idle  manner 
attracted  attention  of  an  offensive  but  common  sort.  She 
was  slightly  taken  back  at  the  overtures  of  a  well-dressed 
man  of  thirty,  who  in  passing  looked  at  her,  reduced  his 
pace,  turned  back,  and  said : 

"  Out  for  a  little  stroll,  are  you,  this  evening?  " 

Carrie  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and  then  sum- 
moned sufficient  thought  to  reply:  "  Why,  I  don't  know 
you,"  backing  away  as  she  did  so. 

"  Oh,  that  don't  matter,"  said  the  other  affably. 

She  bandied  no  more  words  with  him,  but  hurried 
away,  reaching  her  own  door  quite  out  of  breath.  There 
was  something  in  the  man's  look  which  frightened 
her. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  week  it  was  very  much  the 
same.  One  or  two  nights  she  found  herself  too  tired  to 
walk  home,  and  expended  car  fare.     She  was  not  very 


SISTER   CARRIE  6 1 

strong,  and  sitting  all  day  affected  her  back.     She  went  to 
bed  one  night  before  Hanson. 

Transplantation  is  not  always  successful  in  the  matter 
of  flowers  or  maidens.  It  requires  sometimes  a  richer 
soil,  a  better  atmosphere  to  continue  even  a  natural 
growth.  It  would  have  been  better  if  her  acclimatization 
had  been  more  gradual — less  rigid.  She  would  have  done 
better  if  she  had  not  secured  a  position  so  quickly,  and  had 
seen  more  of  the  city  which  she  constantly  troubled  to 
know  about. 

On  the  first  morning  it  rained  she  found  that  she  had 
no  umbrella.  Minnie  loaned  her  one  of  hers,  which  was 
worn  and  faded.  There  was  the  kind  of  vanity  in  Carrie 
that  troubled  at  this.  She  went  to  one  of  the  great  de- 
partment stores  and  bought  herself  one,  using  a  dollar 
and  a  quarter  of  her  small  store  to  pay  for  it. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for,  Carrie?"  asked  Minnie, 
when  she  saw  it. 

"  Oh,  I  need  one,"  said  Carrie. 

"  You  foolish  girl." 

Carrie  resented  this,  though  she  did  not  reply.     She 
was  not  going  to  be  a  common  shop-girl,  she  thought; 
they  need  not  think  it,  either. 

On  the  first  Saturday  night  Carrie  paid  her  board,  four 
dollars.  Minnie  had  a  quaver  of  conscience  as  she  took 
it,  but  did  not  know  how  to  explain  to  Hanson  if  she  took 
less.  That  worthy  gave  up  just  four  dollars  less  toward 
the  household  expenses  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  He 
contemplated  increasing  his  Building  and  Loan  pay- 
ments. As  for  Carrie,  she  studied  over  the  problem  of 
finding  clothes  and  amusement  on  fifty  cents  a  week. 
She  brooded  over  this  until  she  was  in  a  state  of  mental 
rebellion. 

"  I'm  going  up  the  street  for  a  walk,"  she  said  after 
supper. 


62  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Not  alone,  are  you?  "  asked  Hanson. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Carrie. 

"  I  wouldn't,"  said  Minnie. 

"  I  want  to  see  something,"  said  Carrie,  and  by  the  tone 
she  put  into  the  last  word  they  realised  for  the  first  time 
she  was  not  pleased  with  them. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her?  "  asked  Hanson,  when 
she  went  into  the  front  room  to  get  her  hat. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Minnie. 

"  Well,  she  ought  to  know  better  than  to  want  to  go  out 
alone." 

Carrie  did  not  go  very  far,  after  all.  She  returned  and 
stood  in  the  door.  The  next  day  they  went  out  to  Gar- 
field Park,  but  it  did  not  please  her.  She  did  not  look 
well  enough.  In  the  shop  next  day  she  heard  the  highly 
coloured  reports  which  girls  give  of  their  trivial  amuse- 
ments. They  had  been  happy.  On  several  days  it  rained 
and  she  used  up  car  fare.  One  night  she  got  thoroughly 
soaked,  going  to  catch  the  car  at  Van  Buren  Street.  All 
that  evening  she  sat  alone  in  the  front  room  looking  out 
upon  the  street,  where  the  lights  were  reflected  on  the  wet 
pavements,  thinking.  She  had  imagination  enough  to  be 
moody. 

On  Saturday  she  paid  another  four  dollars  and  pocketed 
her  fifty  cents  in  despair.  The  speaking  acquaintanceship 
which  she  formed  with  some  of  the  girls  at  the  shop  dis- 
covered to  her  the  fact  that  they  had  more  of  their  earn- 
ings to  use  for  themselves  than  she  did.  They  had  young 
men  of  the  kind  whom  she,  since  her  experience  with 
Drouet,  felt  above,  who  took  them  about.  She  came  to 
thoroughly  dislike  the  light-headed  young  fellows  of  the 
shop.  Not  one  of  them  had  a  show  of  refinement.  She 
saw  only  their  workday  side. 

There  came  a  day  when  the  first  premonitory  blast  of 
winter  swept  over  the  city.     It  scudded  the  fleecy  clouds 


SISTER   CARRIE  63 

in  the  heavens,  trailed  long,  thin  streamers  of  smoke  from 
the  tall  stacks,  and  raced  about  the  streets  and  corners  in 
sharp  and  sudden  puffs.  Carrie  now  felt  the  problem  of 
winter  clothes.  What  was  she  to  do?  She  had  no  winter 
jacket,  no  hat,  no  shoes.  It  was  difficult  to  speak  to 
Minnie  about  this,  but  at  last  she  summoned  the  courage. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  about  clothes," 
she  said  one  evening  when  they  were  together.  "  I  need 
a  hat." 

Minnie  looked  serious. 

"  Why  don't  you  keep  part  of  your  money  and  buy 
yourself  one?  "  she  suggested,  worried  over  the  situation 
which  the  withholding  of  Carrie's  money  would  create. 

"  I'd  like  to  for  a  week  or  so,  if  you  don't  mind,"  ven- 
tured Carrie. 

"  Could  you  pay  two  dollars?  "  asked  Minnie. 

Carrie  readily  acquiesced,  glad  to  escape  the  trying  situ- 
ation, and  liberal  now  that  she  saw  a  way  out.  She  was 
elated  and  began  figuring  at  once.  She  needed  a  hat  first 
of  all.  How  Minnie  explained  to  Hanson  she  never  knew. 
He  said  nothing  at  all,  but  there  were  thoughts  in  the  air 
which  left  disagreeable  impressions. 

The  new  arrangement  might  have  worked  if  sickness 
had  not  intervened.  It  blew  up  cold  after  a  rain  one  after- 
noon when  Carrie  was  still  without  a  jacket.  She  came 
out  of  the  warm  shop  at  six  and  shivered  as  the  wind 
struck  her.  In  the  morning  she  was  sneezing,  and  going 
down  town  made  it  worse.  That  day  her  bones  ached  and 
she  felt  light-headed.  Towards  evening  she  felt  very  ill, 
and  when  she  reached  home  was  not  hungry.  Minnie 
noticed  her  drooping  actions  and  asked  her  about  herself. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie.     "  I  feel  real  bad." 

She  hung  about  the  stove,  suffered  a  chattering  chill, 
and  went  to  bed  sick.  The  next  morning  she  was  thor- 
oughly feverish. 


64  SISTER  CARRIE 

Minnie  was  truly  distressed  at  this,  but  maintained  a 
kindly  demeanour.  Hanson  said  perhaps  she  had  better 
go  back  home  for  a  while.  When  she  got  up  after  three 
days,  it  was  taken  for  granted  that  her  position  was  lost. 
The  winter  was  near  at  hand,  she  had  no  clothes,  and  now 
she  was  out  of  work. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie;  "I'll  go  down  Monday 
and  see  if  I  can't  get  something." 

If  anything,  her  efforts  were  more  poorly  rewarded  on 
this  ,trial  than  the  last.  Her  clothes  were  nothing  suitable 
for  fall  wearing.  Her  last  money  she  had  spent  for  a  hat. 
For  three  days  she  wandered  about,  utterly  dispirited. 
The  attitude  of  the  flat  was  fast  becoming  unbearable. 
She  hated  to  think  of  going  back  there  each  evening. 
Hanson  was  so  cold.  She  knew  it  could  not  last  much 
longer.     Shortly  she  would  have  to  give  up  and  go  home. 

On  the  fourth  day  she  was  down  town  all  day,  having 
borrowed  ten  cents  for  lunch  from  Minnie.  She  had  ap- 
plied in  the  cheapest  kind  of  places  without  success.  She 
even  answered  for  a  waitress  in  a  small  restaurant  where 
she  saw  a  card  in  the  window,  but  they  wanted  an  experi- 
enced girl.  She  moved  through  the  thick  throng  of 
strangers,  utterly  subdued  in  spirit.  Suddenly  a  hand 
pulled  her  arm  and  turned  her  about. 

"  Well,  well!  "  said  a  voice.  In  the  first  glance  she  be- 
held Drouet.  He  was  not  only  rosy-cheeked,  but  radiant. 
He  was  the  essence  of  sunshine  and  good-humour. 
"  Why,  how  are  you,  Carrie?  "  he  said.  "  You're  a  daisy. 
Where  have  you  been?  " 

Carrie  smiled  under  his  irresistible  flood  of  geniality. 

"  I've  been  out  home,"  she  said. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  saw  you  across  the  street  there.  I 
thought  it  was  you.  I  was  just  coming  out  to  your  place. 
How  are  you,  anyhow?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  Carrie,  smiling. 


SISTER  CARRIE  65 

Drouet  looked  her  over  and  saw  something  different. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  You're  not 
going  anywhere  in  particular,  are  you?  " 

"  Not  just  now,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Let's  go  up  here  and  have  something  to  eat,  George! 
but  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again." 

She  felt  so  relieved  in  his  radiant  presence,  so  much 
looked  after  and  cared  for,  that  she  assented  gladly, 
though  with  the  slightest  air  of  holding  back. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  arm — and  there  was  an 
exuberance  of  good-fellowship  in  the  word  which  fairly 
warmed  the  cockles  of  her  heart. 

They  went  through  Monroe  Street  to  the  old  Windsor 
dining-room,  which  was  then  a  large,  comfortable  place, 
with  an  excellent  cuisine  and  substantial  service,  Drouet 
selected  a  table  close  by  the  window,  where  the  busy  rout 
of  the  street  could  be  seen.  He  loved  the  changing  pano- 
rama of  the  street — to  see  and  be  seen  as  he  dined. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  getting  Carrie  and  himself  comfortably 
settled,  "  what  will  you  have?  " 

Carrie  looked  over  the  large  bill  of  fare  which  the 
waiter  handed  her  without  really  considering  it.  She  was 
very  hungry,  and  the  things  she  saw  there  awakened  her 
desires,  but  the  high  prices  held  her  attention.  ",  Half 
broiled  spring  chicken— seventy-five.  Sirloin  steak  with 
mushrooms— one  twenty-five,"  She  had  dimly  heard  of 
these  things,  but  it  seemed  strange  to  be  called  to  order 
from  the  list. 

"  I'll  fix  this,"  exclaimed  Drouet.     "  Sst!  waiter/' 

That  officer  of  the  board,  a  full-chested,  round-faced 
negro,  approached,  and  inclined  his  ear. 

"  Sirloin  with  mushrooms,"  said  Drouet.  '■  Stuffed 
tomatoes." 

"  Yassah,"  assented  the  negro,  nodding  his  head. 

"  Hashed  brown  potatoes," 
5 


66  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Yassah." 

"  Asparagus." 

"  Yassah." 

"  And  a  pot  of  coffee." 

Drouet  turned  to  Carrie.  "  I  haven't  had  a  thing  since 
breakfast.  Just  got  in  from  Rock  Island.  I  was  going 
off  to  dine  when  I  saw  you." 

Carrie  smiled  and  smiled. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing?  "  he  went  on.  "  Tell  me 
all  about  yourself.     How  is  your  sister?  " 

"  She's  well,"  returned  Carrie,  answering  the  last  query. 

He  looked  at  her  hard. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  "  you  haven't  been  sick,  have  you?  " 

Carrie  nodded. 

"Well,  now,  that's  a  blooming  shame,  isn't  it?  You 
don't  look  very  well.  I  thought  you  looked  a  little  pale. 
What  have  you  been  doing?  " 

"  Working,"  said  Carrie. 

"  You  don't  say  so !     At  what?  " 

She  told  him. 

"  Rhodes,  Morgenthau  and  Scott — why,  I  know  that 
house.  Over  here  on  Fifth  Avenue,  isn't  it?  They're  a 
close-fisted  concern.     What  made  you  go  there?  " 

"  I  couldn't  get  anything  else,"  said  Carrie  frankly. 

"  Well,  that's  an  outrage,"  said  Drouet.  "  You  oughtn't 
to  be  working  for  those  people.  Have  the  factory  right 
back  of  the  store,  don't  they?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie. 

"  That  isn't  a  good  house,"  said  Drouet.  "  You  don't 
want  to  work  at  anything  like  that,  anyhow." 

He  chattered  on  at  a  great  rate,  asking  questions,  ex- 
plaining things  about  himself,  telling  her  what  a  good 
restaurant  it  was,  until  the  waiter  returned  with  an  im- 
mense tray,  bearing  the  hot  savoury  dishes  which  had 
been  ordered.     Drouet  fairly  shone  in  the  matter  of  serv- 


SISTER   CARRIE  67 

ing.  He  appeared  to  great  advantage  behind  the  white 
napery  and  silver  platters  of  the  table  and  displaying  his 
arms  with  a  knife  and  fork.  As  he  cut  the  meat  his  rings 
almost  spoke.  His  new  suit  creaked  as  he  stretched  to 
reach  the  plates,  break  the  bread,  and  pour  the  coffee.  He 
helped  Carrie  to  a  rousing  plateful  and  contributed  the 
warmth  of  his  spirit  to  her  body  until  she  was  a  new  girl. 
He  was  a  splendid  fellow  in  the  true  popular  understand- 
ing of  the  term,  and  captivated  Carrie  completely. 

That  little  soldier  of  fortune  took  her  good  turn  in  an 
easy  way.  She  felt  a  little  out  of  place,  but  the  great  room 
soothed  her  and  the  view  of  the  well-dressed  throng  out- 
side seemed  a  splendid  thing.  Ah,  what  was  it  not  to 
have  money!  What  a  thing  it  was  to  be  able  to  come  in 
here  and  dine!  Drouet  must  be  fortunate.  He  rode  on 
trains,  dressed  in  such  nice  clothes,  was  so  strong,  and 
ate  in  these  fine  places.  He  seemed  quite  a  figure  of 
a  man,  and  she  wondered  at  his  friendship  and  regard 
for  her. 

"  So  you  lost  your  place  because  you  got  sick,  eh?  "  he 
said.     "  What  are  you  going  to  do  now?  " 

"  Look  around,"  she  said,  a  thought  of  the  need  that 
hung  outside  this  fine  restaurant  like  a  hungry  dog  at  her 
heels  passing  into  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Drouet,  "  that  won't  do.  How  long 
have  you  been  looking?  " 

"  Four  days,"  she  answered. 

"  Think  of  that!  "  he  said,  addressing  some  problemati- 
cal individual.  "  You  oughtn't  to  be  doing  anything  like 
that.  These  girls,"  and  he  waved  an  inclusion  of  all  shop 
and  factory  girls,  "  don't  get  anything.  Why,  you  can't 
live  on  it,  can  you?  " 

He  was  a  brotherly  sort  of  creature  in  his  demeanour. 
When  he  had  scouted  the  idea  of  that  kind  of  toil,  he  took 
another  tack.     Carrie  was  really  very  pretty.     Even  then, 


68  SISTER  CARRIE 

in  her  commonplace  garb,  her  figure  was  evidently  not 
bad,  and  her  eyes  were  large  and  gentle.  Drouet  looked 
at  her  and  his  thoughts  reached  home.  She  felt  his  ad- 
miration. It  was  powerfully  backed  by  his  liberality  and 
good-humour.  She  felt  that  she  liked  him — that  she 
could  continue  to  like  him  ever  so  much.  There  was 
something  even  richer  than  that,  running  as  a  hidden 
strain,  in  her  mind.  Every  little  while  her  eyes  would 
meet  his,  and  by  that  means  the  interchanging  current 
of  feeling  would  be  fully  connected. 

"  Why  don't  you  stay  down  town  and  go  to  the  theatre 
with  me?"  he  said,  hitching  his  chair  closer.  The  table 
was  not  very  wide. 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  she  said. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night?  " 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  a  little  drearily. 

"  You  don't  like  out  there  where  you  are,  do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  if  you  don't  get  work?  " 

"  Go  back  home,  I  guess." 

There  was  the  least  quaver  in  her  voice  as  she  said  this. 
Somehow,  the  influence  he  was  exerting  was  powerful. 
They  came  to  an  understanding  of  each  other  without 
words — he  of  her  situation,  she  of  the  fact  that  he  realised 
it. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  you  can't  make  it!  "  genuine  sympathy 
filling  his  mind  for  the  time.  "  Let  me  help  you.  You 
take  some  of  my  money." 

"  Oh,  no!  "  she  said,  leaning  back. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  he  said. 

She  sat  meditating,  merely  shaking  her  head. 

He  looked  at  her  quite  tenderly  for  his  kind.  There 
were  some  loose  bills  in  his  vest  pocket — greenbacks. 
They  were  soft  and  noiseless,  and  he  got  his  fingers  about 
them  and  crumpled  them  up  in  his  hand. 


SISTER   CARRIE  69 

"  Come  on,"  he  said,  "  I'll  see  you  through  all  right. 
Get  yourself  some  clothes." 

It  was  the  first  reference  he  had  made  to  that  subject, 
and  now  she  realised  how  bad  off  she  was.  In  his  crude 
way  he  had  struck  the  key-note.  Her  lips  trembled  a  little. 

She  had  her  hand  out  on  the  table  before  her.  They 
were  quite  alone  in  their  corner,  and  he  put  his  larger, 
warmer  hand  over  it. 

"  Aw,  come,  Carrie,"  he  said,  "  what  can  you  do  alone  ? 
Let  me  help  you." 

He  pressed  her  hand  gently  and  she  tried  to  withdraw 
it.  At  this  he  held  it  fast,  and  she  no  longer  protested. 
Then  he  slipped  the  greenbacks  he  had  into  her  palm,  and 
when  she  began  to  protest,  he  whispered: 

"  I'll  loan  it  to  you— that's  all  right.    I'll  loan  it  to  you." 

He  made  her  take  it.  She  felt  bound  to  him  by  a 
strange  tie  of  affection  now.  They  went  out,  and .  he 
walked  with  her  far  out  south  toward  Polk  Street,  talking. 

"  You  don't  want  to  live  with  those  people?  "  he  said  in 
one  place,  abstractedly.  Carrie  heard  it,  but  it  made  only 
a  slight  impression. 

"  Come  down  and  meet  me  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  and 
we'll  go  to  the  matinee.     Will  you  ?  " 

Carrie  protested  a  while,  but  acquiesced. 

"  You're  not  doing  anything.  Get  yourself  a  nice  pair 
of  shoes  and  a  jacket." 

She  scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  the  complication  which 
would  trouble  her  when  he  was  gone.  In  his  presence, 
she  was  of  his  own  hopeful,  easy-way-out  mood. 

"  Don't  you  bother  about  those  people  out  there,"  he 
said  at  parting.     "  I'll  help  you." 

Carrie  left  him,  feeling  as  though  a  great  arm  had 
slipped  out  before  her  to  draw  off  trouble.  The  money 
she  had  accepted  was  two  soft,  green,  handsome  ten- 
dollar  bills. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  LURE   OF  THE   MATERIAL  :   BEAUTY    SPEAKS    FOR 
ITSELF 

The  true  meaning  of  money  yet  remains  to  be  popularly 
explained  and  comprehended.  When  each  individual 
realises  for  himself  that  this  thing  primarily  stands  for  and 
should  only  be  accepted  as  a  moral  due — that  it  should 
be  paid  out  as  honestly  stored  energy,  and  not  as  a, 
usurped  privilege — many  of  our  social,  religious,  and  polit- 
ical troubles  will  have  permanently  passed.  As  for  Car- 
rie, her  understanding  of  the  moral  significance  of  money 
was  the  popular  understanding,  nothing  more.  The  old 
definition :  "  Money :  something  everybody  else  has  and  I 
must  get,"  would  have  expressed  her  understanding  of  it 
thoroughly.  Some  of  it  she  now  held  in  her  hand — two 
soft,  green  ten-dollar  bills — and  she  felt  that  she  was  im- 
mensely better  off  for  the  having  of  them.  It  was  some- 
thing that  was  power  in  itself.  One  of  her  order  of  mind 
would  have  been  content  to  be  cast  away  upon  a  desert 
island  with  a  bundle  of  money,  and  only  the  long  strain 
of  starvation  would  have  taught  her  that  in  some  cases 
it  could  have  no  value.  Even  then  she  would  have  had 
no  conception  of  the  relative  value  of  the  thing;  her  one 
thought  would,  undoubtedly,  have  concerned  the  pity  of 
having  so  much  power  and  the  inability  to  use  it. 

The  poor  girl  thrilled  as  she  walked  away  from  Drouet. 
She  felt  ashamed  in  part  because  she  had  been  weak 
enough  to.  take  it,  but  her  need  was  so  dire,  she  was  still 


SISTER   CARRIE  7 1 

glad.  'Now  she  would  have  a  nice  new  jacket!  Now  she 
would  buy  a  nice  pair  of  pretty  button  shoes.  She  would 
get  stockings,  too,  and  a  skirt,  and,  and — until  already,  as 
in  the  matter  of  her  prospective  salary,  she  had  got  be- 
yond, in  her  desires,  twice  the  purchasing  power  of  her 
bills. 

She  conceived  a  true  estimate  of  Drouet.  To  her,  and 
indeed  to  all  the  world,  he  was  a  nice,  good-hearted  man. 
There  was  nothing  evil  in  the  fellow.  He  gave  her  the 
money  out  of  a  good  heart — out  of  a  realisation  of  her 
want.  He  would  not  have  given  the  same  amount  to  a 
poor  young  man,  but  we  must  not  forget  that  a  poor 
young  man  could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things,  have  ap- 
pealed to  him  like  a  poor  young  girl.  Femininity  affected 
his  feelings.  He  was  the  creature  of  an  inborn  desire. 
Yet  no  beggar  could  have  caught  his  eye  and  said,  "  My 
God,  mister,  I'm  starving,"  but  he  would  gladly  have 
handed  out  what  was  considered  the  proper  portion  to 
give  beggars  and  thought  no  more  about  it.  There 
would  have  been  no  speculation,  no  philosophising.  He 
had  no  mental  process  in  him  worthy  the  dignity  of  either 
of  those  terms.  In  his  good  clothes  and  fine  health,  he 
was  a  merry,  unthinking  moth  of  the  lamp.  Deprived  of 
his  position,  and  struck  by  a  few  of  the  involved  and  baf- 
fling forces  which  sometimes  play  upon  man,  he  would 
have  been  as  helpless  as  Carrie — as  helpless,  as  non- 
understanding,  as  pitiable,  if  you  will,  as  she. 

Now,  in  regard  to  his  pursuit  of  women,  he  meant  them 
no  harm,  because  he  did  not  conceive  of  the  relation 
which  he  hoped  to  hold  with  them  as  being  harmful.  He 
loved  to  make  advances  to  women,  to  have  them  succumb 
to  his  charms,  not  because  he  was  a  cold-blooded,  dark, 
scheming  villain,  but  because  his  inborn  desire  urged  him 
to  that  as  a  chief  delight.  He  was  vain,  he  was  boastful, 
he  was  as  deluded  by  fine  clothes  as  any  silly-headed  girl. 


11  SISTER  CARRIE 

A  truly  deep-dyed  villain  could  have  hornswaggled  him 
as  readily  as  he  could  have  flattered  a  pretty  shop-girl. 
His  fine  success  as  a  salesman  lay  in  his  geniality  and  the 
thoroughly  reputable  standing  of  his  house.  He  bobbed 
about  among  men,  a  veritable  bundle  of  enthusiasm— no 
power  worthy  the  name  of  intellect,  no  thoughts  worthy 
the  adjective  noble,  no  feelings  long  continued  in  one 
Strain.  A  Madame  Sappho  would  have  called  him  a  pig; 
a  Shakespeare  would  have  said  "  my  merry  child;  "  old, 
drinking  Caryoe  thought  him  a  clever,  successful  business 
man.     In  short,  he  was  as  good  as  his  intellect  conceived. 

The  best  proof  that  there  was  something  open  and 
commendable  about  the  man  was  the  fact  that  Carrie  took 
the  money.  No  deep,  sinister  soul  with  ulterior  motives 
COUld  have  given  her  fifteen  cents  under  the  guise  of 
friendship.  The  unintellectual  are  not  so  helpless.  Na- 
ture has  taught  the  beasts  of  the  field  to  fly  when  some 
unheralded  danger  threatens.  She  has  put  into  the  small, 
unwise  head  of  the  chipmunk  the  untutored  fear  of  poi- 
sons. "He  keepeth  His  creatures  whole,"  was- not  written 
of  beasts  alone.  Carrie  was  unwise,  and,  therefore,  like 
the  sheep  in  its  unwisdom,  strong  in  feeling.  The  in- 
stinct of  self-protection,  strong  in  all  such  natures,  was 
roUsed  but  feebly,  if  at  all,  by  the  overtures  of  Drouet. 

When  Carrie  had  gone,  he  felicitated  himself  upon  her 
good  opinion.  By  George,  it  was  a  shame  young  girls 
had  to  be  knocked  around  like  that.  Cold  weather  com- 
ing on  and  no  clothes.  Tough.  He  would  go  around 
to  Fitzgerald  and  May's  and  get  a  cigar.  It  made  him 
feel  light  of  foot  as  he  thought  about  her. 

Carrie  reached  home  in  high  good  spirits,  which  she 
could  scarcely  conceal.  The  possession  of  the  money  in- 
volved a  number  of  points  which  perplexed  her  seriously. 
How  should  she  buy  any  clothes  when  Minnie  knew  that 
she  had  no  money?     She  had  no  sooner  entered  the  flat 


SISTER  CARRIE  73 

than  this  point  was  settled  for  her .  It  could  not  be  done. 
She  could  think  of  no  way  of  explaining. 

"  How  did  you  come  out?  "  asked  Minnie,  referring  to 
the  day. 

Carrie  had  none  of  the  small  deception  which  could  feel 
one  thing  and  say  something  directly  opposed.  She 
would  prevaricate,  but  it  would  be  in  the  line  of  her  feel- 
ings at  least.  So  instead  of  complaining  when  she  felt 
so  good,  she  said: 

"  I  have  the  promise  of  something." 

"Where?" 

"  At  the  Boston  Store." 

"  Is  it  sure  promised?"  questioned  Minnie. 

"  Well,  I'm  to  find  out  to-morrow,"  returned  Carrie, 
disliking  to  draw  out  a  lie  any  longer  than  was  necessary. 

Minnie  felt  the  atmosphere  of  good  feeling  which  Car- 
rie brought  with  her.  She  felt  now  was  the  time  to  ex- 
press to  Carrie  the  state  of  Hanson's  feeling  about  her 
entire  Chicago  venture. 

"  If  you  shouldn't  get  it — "  she  paused,  troubled  for 
an  easy  way. 

"  If  I  don't  get  something  pretty  soon,  I  think  I'll  go 
home." 

Minnie  saw  her  chance. 

"  Sven  thinks  it  might  be  best  for  the  winter,  anyhow." 

The  situation  flashed  on  Carrie  at  once.  They  were 
unwilling  to  keep  her  any  longer,  out  of  work.  She  did 
not  blame  Minnie,  she  did  not  blame  Hanson  very  much. 
Now,  as  she  sat  there  digesting  the  remark,  she  was  glad 
she  had  Drouet's  money. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  after  a  few  moments,  "  I  thought  of 
doing  that." 

She  did  not  explain  that  the  thought,  however,  had 
aroused  all  the  antagonism  of  her  nature.  Columbia 
City,  what  was  there  for  her?     She  knew  its  dull,  little 


74  SISTER   CARRIE 

round  by  heart.  Here  was  the  great,  mysterious  city 
which  was  still  a  magnet  for  her.  What  she  had  seen 
only  suggested  its  possibilities.  Now  to  turn  back  on  it 
and  live  the  little  old  life  out  there — she  almost  exclaimed 
against  the  thought. 

She  had  reached  home  early  and  went  in  the  front  room 
to  think.  What  could  she  do?  She  could  not  buy  new 
shoes  and  wear  them  here.  She  would  need  to  save  part 
of  the  twenty  to  pay  her  fare  home.  She  did  not  want  to 
borrow  of  Minnie  for  that.  And  yet,  how  could  she  ex- 
plain where  she  even  got  that  money  ?  If  she  could  only 
get  enough  to  let  her  out  easy. 

She  went  over  the  tangle  again  and  again.  Here,  in 
the  morning,  Drouet  would  expect  to  see  her  in  a  new 
jacket,  and  that  couldn't  be.  The  Hansons  expected  her 
to  go  home,  and  she  wanted  to  get  away,  and  yet  she  did 
not  want  to  go  home.  In  the  light  of  the  way  they  would 
look  on  her  getting  money  without  work,  the  taking  of  if 
now  seemed  dreadful.  She  began  to  be  ashamed.  The 
whole  situation  depressed  her.  It  was  all  so  clear  when 
she  was  with  Drouet.  Now  it  was  all  so  tangled,  so  hope- 
less— much  worse  than  it  was  before,  because  she  had  the 
semblance  of  aid  in  her  hand  which  she  could  not  use. 

Her  spirits  sank  so  that  at  supper  Minnie  felt  that  she 
must  have  had  another  hard  day.  Carrie  finally  decided 
that  she  would  give  the  money  back.  It  was  wrong  to 
take  it.  She  would  go  down  in  the  morning  and  hunt  for 
work.  At  noon  she  would  meet  Drouet  as  agreed  and  tell 
him.  At  this  decision  her  heart  sank,  until  she  was  the 
old  Carrie  of  distress. 

Curiously,  she  could  not  hold  the  money  in  her  hand 
without  feeling  some  relief.  Even  after  all  her  depressing 
conclusions,  she  could  sweep  away  all  thought  about  the 
matter  and  then  the  twenty  dollars  seemed  a  wonderful 
and  delightful  thing.    Ah,  money,  money,  money !    What 


SISTER  CARRIE  75 

a  thing  it  was  to  have.  How  plenty  of  it  would  clear 
away  all  these  troubles. 

In  the  morning  she  got  up  and  started  out  a  little  early. 
Her  decision  to  hunt  for  work  was  moderately  strong,  but 
the  money  in  her  pocket,  after  all  her  troubling  over  it, 
made  the  work  question  the  least  shade  less  terrible.  She 
walked  into  the  wholesale  district,  but  as  the  thought  of 
applying  came  with  each  passing  concern,  her  heart 
shrank.  What  a  coward  she  was,  she  thought  to  herself. 
Yet  she  had  applied  so  often.  It  would  be  the  same  old 
story.  She  walked  on  and  on,  and  finally  did  go  into  one 
place,  with  the  old  result.  She  came  out  feeling  that  luck 
was  against  her.     It  was  no  use. 

Without  much  thinking,  she  reached  Dearborn  Street. 
Here  was  the  great  Fair  store  with  its  multitude  of  de- 
livery wagons  about,  its  long  window  display,  its  crowd  of 
shoppers.  It  readily  changed  her  thoughts,  she  who  was 
so  weary  of  them.  It  was  here  that  she  had  intended  to 
come  and  get  her  new  things.  Now  for  relief  from  dis- 
tress; she  thought  she  would  go  in  and  see.  She  would 
look  at  the  jackets. 

There  is  nothing  in  this  world  more  delightful  than  that 
middle  state  in  which  we  mentally  balance  at  times,  pos- 
sessed of  the  means,  lured  by  desire,  and  yet  deterred  by 
conscience  or  want  of  decision.  When  Carrie  began 
wandering  around  the  store  amid  the  fine  displays  she  was 
in  this  mood.  Her  original  experience  in  this  same  place 
had  given  her  a  high  opinion  of  its  merits.  Now  she 
paused  at  each  individual  .bit  of  finery,  where  before  she 
had  hurried  on.  Her  woman's  heart  was  warm  with  de- 
sire for  them.  How  would  she  look  in  this,  how  charm- 
ing that  would  make  her!  She  came  upon  the  corset 
counter  and  paused  in  rich  reverie  as  she  noted  the  dainty 
concoctions  of  colour  and  lace  there  displayed.  If  she 
would  only  make  up  her  mind,  she  could  have  one  of 


j6  SISTER   CARRIE 

those  now.  She  lingered  in  the  jewelry  department.  She 
saw  the  earrings,  the  bracelets,  the  pins,  the  chains.  What 
would  she  not  have  given  if  she  could  have  had  them  all! 
She  would  look  fine  too,  if  only  she  had  some  of  these 
things. 

The  jackets  were  the  greatest  attraction.  When  she 
entered  the  store,  she  already  had  her  heart  fixed  upon 
the  peculiar  little  tan  jacket  with  large  mother-of-pearl 
buttons  which  was  all  the  rage  that  fall.  Still  she  de- 
lighted to  convince  herself  that  there  was  nothing  she 
would  like  better.  She  went  about  among  the  glass  cases 
and  racks  where  these  things  were  displayed,  and  satis- 
fied herself  that  the  one  she  thought  of  was  the  proper  one. 
All  the  time  she  wavered  in  mind,  now  persuading  herself 
that  she  could  buy  it  right  away  if  she  chose,  now  recall- 
ing to  herself  the  actual  condition.  At  last  the  noon  hour 
was  dangerously  near,  and  she  had  done  nothing.  She 
must  go  now  and  return  the  money. 

Drouet  was  on  the  corner  when  she  came  up. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  "  where  is  the  jacket  and  " — looking 
down — "  the  shoes?  " 

Carrie  had  thought  to  lead  up  to  her  decision  in  some 
intelligent  way,  but  this  swept  the  whole  fore-schemed 
situation  by  the  board. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  that — that  I  can't  take  the  money." 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?  "  he  returned.  "  Well,  you  come 
on  with  me.     Let's  go  over  here  to  Partridge's." 

Carrie  walked  with  him.  Behold,  the  whole  fabric  of 
doubt  and  impossibility  had  slipped  from  her  mind.  She 
could  not  get  at  the  points  that  were  so  serious,  the  things 
she  was  going  to  make  plain  to  him. 

"  Have  you  had  lunch  yet?  Of  course  you  haven't. 
Let's  go  in  here,"  and  Drouet  turned  into  one  of  the  very 
nicely  furnished  restaurants  off  State  Street,  in  Monroe. 

"  I  mustn't  take  the  money,"  said  Carrie,  after  they 


SISTER  CARRIE  yy 

were  settled  in  a  cosey  corner,  and  Drouet  had  ordered 
the  lunch.  "  I  can't  wear  those  things  out  there.  They 
— they  wouldn't  know  where  I  got  them." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do,"  he  smiled,  "  go  without 
them?" 

"  I  think  I'll  go  home,"  she  said,  wearily. 

"  Oh,  come,"  he  said,  "  you've  been  thinking  it  over  too 
long.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do.  You  say  you  can't  wear 
them  out  there.  Why  don't  you  rent  a  furnished  room 
and  leave  them  in  that  for  a  week?  " 

Carrie  shook  her  head.  Like  all  women,  she  was  there 
to  object  and  be  convinced.  It  was  for  him  to  brush 
the  doubts  away  and  clear  the  path  if  he  could. 

"  Why  are  you  going  home?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  get  anything  here." 

"  They  won't  keep  you?  "  he  remarked,  intuitively. 

"  They  can't,"  said  Carrie. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,"  he  said.  "  You  come  with 
me.     I'll  take  care  of  you." 

Carrie  heard  this  passively.  The  peculiar  state  which 
she  was  in  made  it  sound  like  the  welcome  breath  of  an 
open  door.  Drouet  seemed  of  her  own  spirit  and  pleas- 
ing. He  was  clean,  handsome,  well-dressed,  and  sympa- 
thetic.    His  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  friend. 

"  What  can  you  do  back  at  Columbia  City?  "  he  went 
on,  rousing  by  the  words  in  Carrie's  mind  a  picture  of  the 
dull  world  she  had  left.  "  There  isn't  anything  down 
there.  Chicago's  the  place.  You  can  get  a  nice  room 
here  and  some  clothes,  and  then  you  can  do  something." 

Carrie  looked  out  through  the  window  into  the  busy 
street.  There  it  was,  the  admirable,  great  city,  so  fine 
when  you  are  not  poor.  An  elegant  coach,  with  a  pran- 
cing pair  of  bays,  passed  by,  carrying  in  its  upholstered 
depths  a  young  lady. 

"  What  will  you  have  if  you  go  back?  "  asked  Drouet. 


78  SISTER  CARRIE 

There  was  no  subtle  undercurrent  to  the  question.  He 
imagined  that  she  would  have  nothing  at  all  of  the  things 
he  thought  worth  while.  ' 

Carrie  sat  still,  looking  out.  She  was  wondering  what 
she  could  do.  They  would  be  expecting  her  to  go  home 
this  week. 

Drouet  turned  to  the  subject  of  the  clothes  she  was 
going  to  buy. 

"  Why  not  get  yourself  a  nice  little  jacket?  You've  got 
to  have  it.  I'll  loan  you  the  money.  You  needn't  worry 
about  taking  it.  You  can  get  yourself  a  nice  room  by 
yourself.     I  won't  hurt  you." 

Carrie  saw  the  drift,  but  could  not  express  her  thoughts. 
She  felt  more  than  ever  the  helplessness  of  her  case. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  something  to  do,"  she  said. 

"  Maybe  you  can,"  went  on  Drouet,  "  if  you  stay  here. 
You  can't  if  you  go  away.  They  won't  let  you  stay  out 
there.  Now,  why  not  let  me  get  you  a  nice  room?  I 
won't  bother  you — you  needn't  be  afraid.  Then,  when 
you  get  fixed  up,  maybe  you  could  get  something." 

He  looked  at  her  pretty  face  and  it  vivified  his  mental 
resources.  She  was  a  sweet  little  mortal  to  him — there 
was  no  doubt  of  that.  She  seemed  to  have  some  power 
back  of  her  actions.  She  was  not  like  the  common  run 
of  store-girls.     She  wasn't  silly. 

In  reality,  Carrie  had  more  imagination  than  he — more 
taste.  It  was  a  finer  mental  strain  in  her  that  made  pos- 
sible her  depression  and  loneliness.  Her  poor  clothes  were 
neat,  and  she  held  her  head  unconsciously  in  a  dainty  way. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  get  something?  "  she  asked. 

"  Sure,"  he  said,  reaching  over  and  filling  her  cup  with 
tea.     "  I'll  help  you." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  he  laughed  reassuringly. 

"  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  go  over  here 
to  Partridge's  and  you  pick  out  what  you  want.     Then 


SISTER  CARRIE  79 

we'll  look  around  for  a  room  for  you.  You  can  leave 
the  things  there.     Then  we'll  go  to  the  show  to-night." 

Carrie  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,  you  can  go  out  to  the  flat  then,  that'-s  all  right. 
You  don't  need  to  stay  in  the  room.  Just  take  it  and 
leave  your  things  there." 

She  hung  in  doubt  about  this  until  the  dinner  was 
over. 

"  Let's  go  over  and  look  at  the  jackets,"  he  said. 

Together  they  went.  In  the  store  they  found  that 
shine  and  rustle  of  new  things  which  immediately  laid 
hold  of  Carrie's  heart.  Under  the  influence  of  a  good 
dinner  and  Drouet's  radiating  presence,  the  scheme  pro- 
posed seemed  feasible.  She  looked  about  and  picked  a 
jacket  like  the  one  which  she  had  admired  at  The  Fair. 
When  she  got  it  in  her  hand  it  seemed  so  much  nicer. 
The  saleswoman  helped  her  on  with  it,  and,  by  accident, 
it  fitted  perfectly.  Drouet's  face  lightened  as  he  saw  the 
improvement.     She  looked  quite  smart. 

"  That's  the  thing,"  he  said. 

Carrie  turned  before  the  glass.  She  could  not  help 
feeling  pleased  as  she  looked  at  herself.  A  warm  glow 
crept  into  her  cheeks. 

"  That's  the  thing,"  said  Drouet.     "  Now  pay  for  it." 

"  It's  nine  dollars,"  said  Carrie. 

"  That's  all  right — take  it,"  said  Drouet. 

She  reached  in  her  purse  and  took  out  one  of  the  bills. 
The  woman  asked  if  she  would  wear  the  coat  and  went 
off.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  back  and  the  purchase  was 
closed. 

From  Partridge's  they  went  to  a  shoe  store,  where 
Carrie  was  fitted  for  shoes.  Drouet  stood  by,  and  when 
he  saw  how  nice  they  looked,  said,  "  Wear  them."  Car- 
rie shook  her  head,  however.  She  was  thinking  of  re- 
turning to  the  flat.     He  bought  her  a  purse  for  one  thing, 


80  SISTER  CARRIE 

and  a  pair  of  gloves  for  another,  and  let  her  buy  the 
stockings. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said,  "  you  come  down  here  and  buy 
yourself  a  skirt," 

In  all  of  Carrie's  actions  there  was  a  touch  of  misgiving. 
The  deeper  she  sank  into  the  entanglement,  the  more  she 
imagined  that  the  thing  hung  upon  the  few  remaining 
things  she  had  not  done.  Since  she  had  not  done  these, 
there  was  a  way  out. 

Drouet  knew  a  place  in  Wabash  Avenue  where  there 
were  rooms.  He  showed  Carrie  the  outside  of  these,  an<d 
said:  "  Now,  you're  my  sister."  He  carried  the  arrange- 
ment off  with  an  easy  hand  when  it  came  to  the  selection, 
looking  around,  criticising,  opining.  "  Her  trunk  will  be 
here  in  a  day  or  so,"  he  observed  to  the  landlady,  who  was 
very  pleased. 

When  they  were  alone,  Drouet  did  not  change  in  the 
least.  He  talked  in  the  same  general  way  as  if  they  were 
out  in  the  street.     Carrie  left  her  things. 

"  Now,"  said  Drouet,  "  why  don't  you  move  to-night?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  said  Carrie. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  leave  them  so." 

He  took  that  up  as  they  walked  along  the  avenue.  It 
was  a  warm  afternoon.  The  sun  had  come  out  and  the 
wind  had  died  down.  As  he  talked  with  Carrie,  he  se- 
cured an  accurate  detail  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  flat. 

"  Come  out  of  it,"  he  said,  "  they  won't  care.  I'll  help 
you  get  along." 

She  listened  until  her  misgivings  vanished.  He  would 
show  her  about  a  little  and  then  help  her  get  something. 
He  really  imagined  that  he  would.  He  would  be  out  on 
the  road  and  she  could  be  working. 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,"  he  said, H  you  go  out 
there  and  get  whatever  you  want  and  come  away." 


SISTER  CARRIE  8 1 

She  thought  a  long  time  about  this.  Finally  she 
agreed.  He  would  come  out  as  far  as  Peoria  Street  and 
wait  for  her.  She  was  to  meet  him  at  half-past  eight.  At 
half-past  five  she  reached  home,  and  at  six  her  determina- 
tion was  hardened. 

"  So  you  didn't  get  it?  "  said  Minnie,  referring  to  Car- 
rie's story  of  the  Boston  Store.     . 

Carrie  looked  at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 
"  No,"  she  answered. 

"  I  don't  think  you'd  better  try  any  more  this  fall,"  said 
Minnie. 

Carrie  said  nothing. 

When  Hanson  came  liome  he  wore  the  same  inscru- 
table demeanour.  He  washed  in  silence  and  went  off  to 
read  his  paper.  At  dinner  Carrie  felt  a  little  nervous. 
The  strain  of  her  own  plans  was  considerable,  and  the 
feeling  that  she  was  not  welcome  here  was  strong. 

"  Didn't  find  anything,  eh?  "  said  Hanson. 

"  No." 

He  turned  to  his  eating  again,  the  thought  that  it  was 
a  burden  to  have  her  here  dwelling  in  his  mind.  She 
would  have  to  go  home,  that  was  all.  Once  she  was 
away,  there  would  be  no  more  coming  back  in  the  spring. 

Carrie  was  afraid  of  what  she  was  going  to  do,  but  she 
was  relieved  to  know  that  this  condition  was  ending.  They 
would  not  care.  Hanson  particularly  would  be  glad 
when  she  went.     He  would  not  care  what  became  of  her. 

After  dinner  she-  went  into  the  bathroom,  where  they 
could  not  disturb  her,  and  wrote  a  little  note. 

"  Good-bye,  Minnie,"  it  read.  "  I'm  not  going  home. 
I'm  going  to  stay  in  Chicago  a  little  while  and  look  for 
work.     Don't  worry.     I'll  be  all  right." 

In  the  front  room  Hanson  was  reading  his  paper.     As 
usual,   she  helped  Minnie  clear  away  the   dishes   and 
straighten  up.     Then  she  said: 
6 


82  SISTER   CARRIE 

"  I  guess  I'll  stand  down  at  the  door  a  little  while." 
She  could  scarcely  prevent  her  voice  from  trembling. 

Minnie  remembered  Hanson's  remonstrance. 

"Sven  doesn't  think  it  looks  good  to  stand  down  there," 
she  said. 

"  Doesn't  he?  "  said  Carrie.  "  I  won't  do  it  any  more 
after  this." 

She  put  on  her  hat  and  fidgeted  around  the  table  in  the 
little  bedroom,  wondering  where  to  slip  the  note.  Finally 
she  put  it  under  Minnie's  hair-brush. 

When  she  had  closed  the  hall-door,  she  paused  a  mo- 
ment and  wondered  what  they  would  think.  Some 
thought  of  the  queerness  of  her  deed  affected  her.  She 
went  slowly  down  the  stairs.  She  looked  back  up  the 
lighted  step,  and  then  affected  to  stroll  up  the  street. 
When  she  reached  the  corner  she  quickened  her  pace. 

As  she  was  hurrying  away,  Hanson  came  back  to  his 
wife. 

"  Is  Carrie  down  at  the  door  again?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Minnie;  "  she  said  she  wasn't  going  to  do 
it  any  more." 

He  went  over  to  the  baby  where  it  was  playing  on  the 
floor  and  began  to  poke  his  finger  at  it. 

Drouet  was  on  the  corner  waiting,  in  good  spirits. 

"  Hello,  Carrie,"  he  said,  as  a  sprightly  figure  of  a  girl 
drew  near  him.  "  Got  here  safe,  did  you?  Well,  we'll 
take  a  car." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

INTIMATIONS    BY   WINTER:    AN   AMBASSADOR   SUMMONED 

Among  the  forces  which  sweep  and  play  throughout 
the  universe,  untutored  man  is  but  a  wisp  in  the  wind. 
Our  civilisation  is  still  in  a  middle  stage,  scarcely  beast, 
in  that  it  is  no  longer  wholly  guided  by  instinct;  scarcely 
human,  in  that  it  is  not  yet  wholly  guided  by  reason.  On 
the  tiger  no  responsibility  rests.  We  see  him  aligned  by 
nature  with  the  forces  of  life — he  is  born  into  their  keep- 
ing and  without  thought  he  is  protected.  We  see  man 
far  removed  from  the  lairs  of  the  jungles,  his  innate  in- 
stincts dulled  by  too  near  an  approach  to  free-will,  his 
free-will  not  sufficiently  developed  to  replace  his  instincts 
and  afford  him  perfect  guidance.  He  is  becoming  too 
wise  to  hearken  always  to  instincts  and  desires;  he  is  still 
too  weak  to  always  prevail  against  them.  As  a  beast,  the 
forces  of  life  aligned  him  with  them;  as  a  man,  he  has  not 
yet  wholly  learned  to  align  himself  with  the  forces.  In 
this  intermediate  stage  he  wavers — neither  drawn  in  har- 
mony with  nature  by  his  instincts  nor  yet  wisely  putting 
himself  into  harmony  by  his  own  free-will.  He  is  even 
as  a  wisp  in  the  wind,  moved  by  every  breath  of  passion, 
acting  now  by  his  will  and  now  by  his  instincts,  erring 
with  one,  only  to  retrieve  by  the  other,  falling  by  one,  only 
to  rise  by  the  other — a  creature  of  incalculable  variability. 
We  have  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  evolution  is  ever 
in  action,  that  the  ideal  is  a  light  that  cannot  fail.  He  will 
not  forever  balance  thus  between  good  and  evil.     When 


84  SISTER   CARRIE 

this  jangle  of  free-will  and  instinct  shall  have  been  ad- 
justed, when  perfect  understanding  has  given  the  former 
the  power  to  replace  the  latter  entirely,  man  will  no  longer 
vary.  The  needle  of  understanding  will  yet  point  stead- 
fast and  unwavering  to  the  distant  pole  of  truth. 

In  Carrie — as  in  how  many  of  our  worldlings  do  they 
not  ? — instinct  and  reason,  desire  and  understanding,  were 
at  war  for  the  mastery.  She  followed  whither  her  crav- 
ing led.     She  was  as  yet  more  drawn  than  she  drew. 

When  Minnie  found  the  note  next  morning,  after  a 
night  of  mingled  wonder  and  anxiety,  which  was  not  ex- 
actly touched  by  yearning,  sorrow,  or  love,  she  exclaimed: 
"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"What?"  said  Hanson. 

"  Sister  Carrie  has  gone  to  live  somewhere  else." 

Hanson  jumped  out  of  bed  with  more  celerity  than  he 
usually  displayed  and  looked  at  the  note.  The  only  in- 
dication of  his  thoughts  came  in  the  form  of  a  little  click- 
ing sound  made  by  his  tongue;  the  sound  some  people 
make  when  they  wish  to  urge  on  a  horse. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  she's  gone  to?  "  said  Minnie, 
thoroughly  aroused. 

"  I  don't  know,"  a  touch  of  cynicism  lighting  his  eye. 
"  Now  she  has  gone  and  done  it." 

Minnie  moved  her  head  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  she  said,  "  she  doesn't  know  what  she  has 
done." 

"  Well,"  said  Hanson,  after  a  while,  sticking  his  hands 
out  before  him,  "  what  can  you  do?  " 

Minnie's  womanly  nature  was  higher  than  this.  She 
figured  the  possibilities  in  such  cases. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  at  last,  "  poor  Sister  Carrie!  " 

At  the  time  of  this  particular  conversation,  which  oc- 
curred at  5  a.  m.,  that  little  soldier  of  fortune  was  sleeping 
a  rather  troubled  sleep  in  her  new  room,  alone. 


SISTER  CARRIE  85 

Carrie's  new  state  was  remarkable  in  that  she  saw  pos- 
sibilities in  it.  She  was  no  sensualist,  longing  to  drowse 
sleepily  in  the  lap  of  luxury.  She  turned  about,  troubled 
by  her  daring,  glad  of  her  release,  wondering  whether  she 
would  get  something  to  do,  wondering  what  Drouet 
would  do.  That  worthy  had  his  future  fixed  for  him  be- 
yond a  peradventure.  He  could  not  help  what  he  was 
going  to  do.  He  could  not  see  clearly  enough  to  wish 
to  do  differently.  He  was  drawn  by  his  innate  desire  to 
act  the  old  pursuing  part.  He  would  need  to  delight 
himself  with  Carrie  as  surely  as  he  would  need  to  eat  his 
heavy  breakfast.  He  might  suffer  the  least  rudimentary 
twinge  of  conscience  in  whatever  he  did,  and  in  just  so 
far  he  was  evil  and  sinning.  But  whatever  twinges  of 
conscience  he  might  have  would  be  rudimentary,  you  may 
be  sure. 

The  next  day  he  called  upon  Carrie,  and  she  saw  him 
in  her  chamber.     He  was  the  same  jolly,  enlivening  soul. 

"  Aw,"  he  said,  "  what  are  you  looking  so  blue  about? 
Come  on  out  to  breakfast.  You  want  to  get  your  other 
clothes  to-day." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  with  the  hue  of  shifting  thought 
in  her  large  eyes. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  something  to  do,"  she  said. 

"  You'll  get  that  all  right,"  said  Drouet.  "  What's  the 
use  worrying  right  now?  Get  yourself  fixed  up.  See 
the  city.     I  won't  hurt  you." 

"  I  know  you  won't,"  she  remarked,  half  truthfully. 

"  Got  on  the  new  shoes,  haven't  you?  Stick  'em  out. 
George,  they  look  fine.     Put  on  your  jacket." 

Carrie  obeyed. 

"  Say,  that  fits  like  a  T,  don't  it?  "  he  remarked,  feeling 
the  set  of  it  at  the  waist  and  eyeing  it  from  a  few  paces 
with  real  pleasure.  "  What  you  need  now  is  a  new 
skirt.     Let's  go  to  breakfast." 


86  SISTER   CARRIE 

Carrie  put  on  her  hat. 

"  Where  are  the  gloves?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  taking  them  out  of  the  bureau 
drawer. 

"  Now,  come  on,"  he  said. 

Thus  the  first  hour  of  misgiving  was  swept  away. 

It  went  this  way  on  every  occasion.  Drouet  did  not 
leave  her  much  alone.  She  had  time  for  some  lone  wan- 
derings, but  mostly  he  filled  her  hours  with  sight-seeing. 
At  Carson,  Pirie's  he  bought  her  a  nice  skirt  and  shirt 
waist.  With  his  money  she  purchased  the  little  necessa- 
ries of  toilet,  until  at  last  she  looked  quite  another  maiden. 
The  mirror  convinced  her  of  a  few  things  which  she  had 
long  believed.  She  was  pretty,  yes,  indeed!  How  nice 
her  hat  set,  and  weren't  her  eyes  pretty.  She  caught  her 
little  red  lip  with  her  teeth  and  felt  her  first  thrill  of  power. 
Drouet  was  so  good. 

They  went  to  see  "  The  Mikado  "  one  evening,  an  opera 
which  was  hilariously  popular  at  that  time.  Before  going, 
they  made  off  for  the  Windsor  dining-room,  which  was 
in  Dearborn  Street,  a  considerable  distance  from  Carrie's 
room.  It  was  blowing  up  cold,  and  out  of  her  window 
Carrie  could  see  the  western  sky,  still  pink  with  the  fading 
light,  but  steely  blue  at  the  top  where  it  met  the  dark- 
ness. A  long,  thin  cloud  of  pink  hung  in  midair,  shaped 
like  some  island  in  a  far-off  sea.  Somehow  the  swaying 
of  some  dead  branches  of  trees  across  the  way  brought 
back  the  picture  with  which  she  was  familiar  when  she 
looked  from  their  front  window  in  December  days  at 
home. 

She  paused  and  wrung  her  little  hands. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  said  Drouet. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  her  lip  trembling. 

He  sensed  something,  and  slipped  his  arm  over  her 
shoulder,  patting  her  arm. 


SISTER  CARRIE  87 

"  Come  on,"  he  said  gently,  "  you're  all  right." 

She  turned  to  slip  on  her  jacket. 

"  Better  wear  that  boa  about  your  throat  to-night." 

They  walked  north  on  Wabash  to  Adams  Street  and 
then  west.  The  lights  in  the  stores  were  already  shining 
out  in  gushes  of  golden  hue.  The  arc  lights  were  sputter- 
ing overhead,  and  high  up  were  the  lighted  windows  of 
the  tall  office  buildings.  The  chill  wind  whipped  in  and 
out  in  gusty  breaths.  Homeward  bound,  the  six  o'clock 
throng  bumped  and  jostled.  Light  overcoats  were  turned 
up  about  the  ears,  hats  were  pulled  down.  Little  shop- 
girls went  fluttering  by  in  pairs  and  fours,  chattering, 
laughing.  It  was  a  spectacle  of  warm-blooded  hu- 
manity. 

Suddenly  a  pair  of  eyes  met  Carrie's  in  recognition. 
They  were  looking  out  from  a  group  of  poorly  dressed 
girls.  Their  clothes  were  faded  and  loose-hanging,  their 
jackets  old,  their  general  make-up  shabby. 

Carrie  recognised  the  glance  and  the  girl.  She  was  one 
of  those  who  worked  at  the  machines  in  the  shoe  factory. 
The  latter  looked,  not  quite  sure,  and  then  turned  her 
head  and  looked.  Carrie  felt  as  if  some  great  tide  had 
rolled  between  them.  The  old  dress  and  the  old  machine 
came  back.  She  actually  started.  Drouet  didn't  notice 
until  Carrie  bumped  into  a  pedestrian. 

"  You  must  be  thinking,"  he  said. 

They  dined  and  went  to  the  theatre.  That  spectacle 
pleased  Carrie  immensely.  The  colour  and  grace  of  it 
caught  her  eye.  She  had  vain  imaginings  about  place 
and  power,  about  far-off  lands  and  magnificent  people. 
When  it  was  over,  the  clatter  of  coaches  and  the  throng 
of  fine  ladies  made  her  stare. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Drouet,  holding  her  back  in  the 
showy  foyer  where  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  moving  in 
a  social  crush,  skirts  rustling,  lace-covered  heads  nod- 


88    '  SISTER  CARRIE 

ding,  white  teeth  showing  through  parted  lips.  "  Let's 
see." 

"  Sixty-seven,"  the  coach-caller  was  saying,  his  voice 
lifted  in  a  sort  of  euphonious  cry.     "  Sixty-seven." 

"  Isn't  it  fine?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Great,"  said  Drouet.  He  was  as  much  affected  by 
this  show  of  finery  and  gayety  as  she.  He  pressed  her 
arm  warmly.  Once  she  looked  up,  her  even  teeth  glisten- 
ing through  her  smiling  lips,  her  eyes  alight.  As  they 
were  moving  out  he  whispered  down  to  her,  "  You  look 
lovely!  "  They  were  right  where  the  coach-caller  was 
swinging  open  a  coach-door  and  ushering  in  two 
ladies. 

"  You  stick  to  me  and  we'll  have  a  coach,"  laughed 
Drouet. 

Carrie  scarcely  heard,  her  head  was  so  full  of  the  swirj 
of  life. 

They  stopped  in  at  a  restaurant  for  a  little  after-theatre, 
lunch.  Just  a  shade  of  a  thought  of  the  hour  entered 
Carrie's  head,  but  there  was  no  household  law  to  govern 
her  now.  If  any  habits  ever  had  time  to  fix  upon  her, 
they  would  have  operated  here.  Habits  are  peculiar 
things.  They  will  drive  the  really  non-religious  mind  out 
of  bed  to  say  prayers  that  are  only  a  custom  and  not  a 
devotion.  The  victim  of  habit,  when  he  has  neglected 
the  thing  which  it  was  his  custom  to  do,  feels  a  little 
scratching  in  the  brain,  a  little  irritating  something  which 
comes  of  being  out  of  the  rut,  and  imagines  it  to  be  the 
prick  of  conscience,  the  still,  small  voice  that  is  urging 
him  ever  to  righteousness.  If  the  digression  is  unusual 
enough,  the  drag  of  habit  will  be  heavy  enough  to  cause 
the  unreasoning  victim  to  return  and  perform  the  per- 
functory thing.  "  Now,  bless  me,"  says  such  a  mind,  "  I 
have  done  my  duty,"  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  has 
merely  done  its  old,  unbreakable  trick  once  again. 


SISTER  CARRIE  89 

Carrie  had  no  excellent  home  principles  fixed  upon  her. 
If  she  had,  she  would  have  been  more  consciously  dis- 
tressed. Now  the  lunch  went  off  with  considerable 
warmth.  Under  the  influence  of  the  varied  occurrences, 
the  fine,  invisible  passion  which  was  emanating  from 
Drouet,  the  food,  the  still  unusual  luxury,  she  relaxed  and 
heard  with  open  ears.  She  was  again  the  victim  of  the 
city's  hypnotic  influence. 

"  Well,"  said  Drouet  at  last,  "  we  had  better  be  going." 

They  had  been  dawdling  over  the  dishes,  and  their  eyes 
had  frequently  met.  Carrie  could  not  help  but  feel  the 
vibration  of  force  which  followed,  which,  indeed,  was  his 
gaze.  He  had  a  way  of  touching  her  hand  in  explana- 
tion, as  if  to  impress  a  fact  upon  her.  He  touched  it  now 
as  he  spoke  of  going. 

They  arose  and  went  out  into  the  street.  The  down- 
town section  was  now  bare,  save  for  a  few  whistling  stroll- 
ers, a  few  owl  cars,  a  few  open  resorts  whose  windows 
were  still  bright.  Out  Wabash  Avenue  they  strolled, 
Drouet  still  pouring  forth  his  volume  of  small  informa- 
tion. He  had  Carrie's  arm  in  his,  and  held  it  closely  as 
he  explained.  Once  in  a  while,  after  some  witticism,  he 
would  look  down,  and  his  eyes  would  meet  hers.  At  last 
they  came  to  the  steps,  and  Carrie  stood  up  on  the  first 
one,  her  head  now  coming  even  with  his  own.  He  took 
her  hand  and  held  it  genially.  He  looked  steadily  at  her 
as  she  glanced  about,  warmly  musing. 

At  about  that  hour,  Minnie  was  soundly  sleeping,  after 
a  long  evening  of  troubled  thought.  She  had  her  elbow 
in  an  awkward  position  under  her  side.  The  muscles  so 
held  irritated  a  few  nerves,  and  now  a  vague  scene  floated 
in  on  the  drowsy  mind.  She  fancied  she  and  Carrie  were 
somewhere  beside  an  old  coal-mine.  She  could  see  the 
tall  runway  and  the  heap  of  earth  and  coal  cast  out. 
There  was  a  deep  pit,  into  which  they  were  looking;  they 


9o  SISTER   CARRIE 

could  see  the  curious  wet  stones  far  down  where  the  wall 
disappeared  in  vague  shadows.  An  old  basket,  used  for 
descending,  was  hanging  there,  fastened  by  a  worn  rope. 

"  Let's  get  in,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Minnie. 

"  Yes,  come  on,"  said  Carrie. 

She  began  to  pull  the  basket  over,  and  now,  in  spite  of 
all  protest,  she  had  swung  over  and  was  going  down. 

"  Carrie,"  she  called,  "  Carrie,  come  back ; "  but  Carrie 
was  far  down  now  and  the  shadow  had  swallowed  her 
completely. 

She  moved  her  arm. 

Now  the  mystic  scenery  merged  queerly  and  the  place 
was  by  waters  she  had  never  seen.  They  were  upon  some 
board  or  ground  or  something  that  reached  far  out,  and 
at  the  end  of  this  was  Carrie.  They  looked  about,  and 
now  the  thing  was  sinking,  and  Minnie  heard  the  low  sip 
of  the  encroaching  water. 

"  Come  on,  Carrie,"  she  called,  but  Carrie  was  reaching 
farther  out.  She  seemed  to  recede,  and  now  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  call  to  her. 

"  Carrie,"  she  called,  "  Carrie,"  but  her  own  voice 
sounded  far  away,  and  the  strange  waters  were  blurring 
everything.  She  came  away  suffering  as  though  she  had 
lost  something.  She  was  more  inexpressibly  sad  than 
she  had  ever  been  in  life. 

It  was  this  way  through  many  shifts  of  the  tired  brain, 
those  curious  phantoms  of  the  spirit  slipping  in,  blurring 
strange  scenes,  one  with  the  other.  The  last  one  made 
her  cry  out,  for  Carrie  was  slipping  away  somewhere  over 
a  rock,  and  her  fingers  had  let  loose  and  she  had  seen  her 
falling. 

"  Minnie!  What's  the  matter?  Here,  wake  up,"  said 
Hanson,  disturbed,  and  shaking  her  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Wha — what's  the  matter?  "  said  Minnie,  drowsily. 


SISTER  CARRIE  91 

"  Wake  up,"  he  said,  "  and  turn  over.  You're  talking 
in  your  sleep." 

A  week  or  so  later  Drouet  strolled  into  Fitzgerald  and 
Moy's,  spruce  in  dress  and  manner. 

"  Hello,  Charley,"  said  Hurstwood,  looking  out  from 
his  office  door. 

Drouet  strolled  over  and  looked  in  upon  the  manager 
at  his  desk. 

"  When  do  you  go  out  on  the  road  again?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Pretty  soon,"  said  Drouet. 

"  Haven't  seen  much  of  you  this  trip,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  Well,  I've  been  busy,"  said  Drouet. 

They  talked  some  few  minutes  on  general  topics. 

"  Say,"  said  Drouet,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  "  I 
want  you  to  come  out  some  evening." 

"  Out  where?  "  inquired  Hurstwood. 

"  Out  to  my  house,  of  course,"  said  Drouet,  smiling. 

Hurstwood  looked  up  quizzically,  the  least  suggestion 
of  a  smile  hovering  about  his  lips.  He  studied  the  face 
of  Drouet  in  his  wise  way,  and  then  with  the  demeanour 
of  a  gentleman,  said:  "  Certainly;  glad  to." 

"  We'll  have  a  nice  game  of  euchre." 

"  May  I  bring  a  nice  little  bottle  of  Sec?  "  asked  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Drouet.     "  I'll  introduce  you." 


CHAPTER    IX 
convention's  own  tinder-box:  the  eye  that  is 

GREEN 

Hurstwood's  residence  on  the  North  Side,  near  Lin- 
coln Park,  was  a  brick  building  of  a  very  popular  type 
then,  a  three-story  affair  with  the  first  floor  sunk  a  very 
little  below  the  level  of  the  street.  It  had  a  large  bay 
window  bulging  out  from  the  second  floor,  and  was 
graced  in  front  by  a  small  grassy  plot,  twenty-five  feet 
wide  and  ten  feet  deep.  There  was  also  a  small  rear  yard, 
walled  in  by  the  fences  of  the  neighbours  and  holding  a 
stable  where  he  kept  his  horse  and  trap. 

The  ten  rooms  of  the  house  were  occupied  by  himself, 
his  wife  Julia,  and  his  son  and  daughter,  George,  Jr.,  and 
Jessica.  There  were  besides  these  a  maid-servant,  repre- 
sented from  time  to  time  by  girls  of  various  extraction, 
for  Mrs.  Hurstwood  was  not  always  easy  to  please. 

"  George,  I  let  Mary  go  yesterday,"  was  not  an  un- 
frequent  salutation  at  the  dinner  table. 

"  All  right,"  was  his  only  reply.  He  had  long  since 
wearied  of  discussing  the  rancorous  subject. 

A  lovely  home  atmosphere  is  one  of  the  flowers  of  the 
world,  than  which  there  is  nothing  more  tender,  nothing 
more  delicate,  nothing  more  calculated  to  make  strong 
and  just  the  natures  cradled  and  nourished  within  it. 
Those  who  have  never  experienced  such  a  beneficent  in- 
fluence will  not  understand  wherefore  the  tear  springs 
glistening  to  the  eyelids  at  some  strange  breath  in  lovely 


SISTER  CARRIE  93 

music.  The  mystic  chords  which  bind  and  thrill  the 
heart  of  the  nation,  they  will  never  know. 

Hurstwood's  residence  could  scarcely  be  said  to  be  in- 
fused with  this  home  spirit.  It  lacked  that  toleration  and 
regard  without  which  the  home  is  nothing.  There  was 
fine  furniture,  arranged  as  soothingly  as  the  artistic  per- 
ception of  the  occupants  warranted.  There  were  soft 
rugs,  rich,  upholstered  chairs  and  divans,  a  grand  piano, 
a  marble  carving  of  some  unknown  Venus  by  some  un- 
known artist,  and  a  number  of  small  bronzes  gathered 
from  heaven  knows  where,  but  generally  sold  by  the  large 
furniture  houses  along  with  everything  else  which  goes 
to  make  the  "  perfectly  appointed  house." 

In  the  dining-room  stood  a  sideboard  laden  with  glis- 
tening decanters  and  other  utilities  and  ornaments  in 
glass,  the  arrangement  of  which  could  not  be  questioned. 
Here  was  something  Hurstwood  knew  about.  He  had 
studied  the  subject  for  years  in  his  business.  He  took 
no  little  satisfaction  in  telling  each  Mary,  shortly  after  she 
arrived,  something  of  what  the  art  of  the  thing  required. 
He  was  not  garrulous  by  any  means.  On  the  contrary, 
there  was  a  fine  reserve  in  his  manner  toward  the  entire 
domestic  economy  of  his  life  which  was  all  that  is  compre- 
hended by  the  popular  term,  gentlemanly.  He  would  not 
argue,  he  would  not  talk  freely.  In  his  manner  was 
something  of  the  dogmatist.  What  he  could  not  correct, 
he  would  ignore.  There  was  a  tendency  in  him  to  walk 
away  from  the  impossible  thing. 

There  was  a  time  when  he  had  been  considerably 
enamoured  of  his  Jessica,  especially  when  he  was  younger 
and  more  confined  in  his  success.  Now,  however,  in  her 
seventeenth  year,  Jessica  had  developed  a  certain  amount 
of  reserve  and  independence  which  was  not  inviting  to 
the  richest  form  of  parental  devotion.  She  was  in  the 
high  school,  and  had  notions  of  life  which  were  decidedly 


94  SISTER  CARRIE 

those  of  a  patrician.  She  liked  nice  clothes  and  urged  for 
them  constantly.  Thoughts  of  love  and  elegant  indi- 
vidual establishments  were  running  in  her  head.  She 
met  girls  at  the  high  school  whose  parents  were  truly  rich 
and  whose  fathers  had  standing  locally  as  partners  or 
owners  of  solid  businesses.  These  girls  gave  themselves 
the  airs  befitting  the  thriving  domestic  establishments 
from  whence  they  issued.  They  were  the  only  ones  of  the 
school  about  whom  Jessica  concerned  herself. 

Young  Hurstwood,  Jr.,  was  in  his  twentieth  year,  and 
was  already  connected  in  a  promising  capacity  with  a 
large  real  estate  firm.  He  contributed  nothing  for  the 
domestic  expenses  of  the  family,  but  was  thought  to  be 
saving  his  money  to  invest  in  real  estate.  He  had  some 
ability,  considerable  vanity,  and  a  love  of  pleasure  that 
had  not,  as  yet,  infringed  upon  his  duties,  whatever  they 
were.  He  came  in  and  went  out,  pursuing  his  own  plans 
and  fancies,  addressing  a  few  words  to  his  mother  occa- 
sionally, relating  some  little  incident  to  his  father,  but  for 
the  most  part  confining  himself  to  those  generalities  with 
which  most  conversation  concerns  itself.  He  was  not  lay- 
ing bare  his  desires  for  any  one  to  see.  He  did  not  find 
any  one  in  the  house  who  particularly  cared  to  see. 

Mrs.  Hurstwood  was  the  type  of  the  woman  who  has 
ever  endeavoured  to  shine  and  has  been  more  or  less 
chagrined  at  the  evidences  of  superior  capability  in  this 
direction  elsewhere.  Her  knowledge  of  life  extended  to 
that  little  conventional  round  of  society  of  which  she  was 
not — but  longed  to  be — a  member.  She  was  not  without 
realisation  already  that  this  thing  was  impossible,  so  far 
as  she  was  concerned.  For  her  daughter,  she  hoped  bet- 
ter things.  Through  Jessica  she  might  rise  a  little. 
Through  George,  Jr.'s,  possible  success  she  might  draw  to 
herself  the  privilege  of  pointing  proudly.  Even  Hurst- 
wood was  doing  well  enough,  and  she  was  anxious  that 


SISTER  CARRIE  95 

his  small  real  estate  adventures  should  prosper.  His 
property  holdings,  as  yet,  were  rather  small,  but  his  in- 
come was  pleasing  and  his  position  with  Fitzgerald  and 
Moy  was  fixed.  Both  those  gentlemen  were  on  pleasant 
and  rather  informal  terms  with  him. 

The  atmosphere  which  such  personalities  would  create 
must  be  apparent  to  all.  It  worked  out  in  a  thousand 
little  conversations,  all  of  which  were  of  the  same  calibre. 

"  I'm  going  up  to  Fox  Lake  to-morrow,"  announced 
George,  Jr.,  at  the  dinner  table  one  Friday  evening. 

"What's  going  on  up  there?"  queried  Mrs.  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  Eddie  Fahrway's  got  a  new  steam  launch,  and  he 
wants  me  to  come  up  and  see  how  it  works." 

"  How  much  did  it  cost  him?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  Oh,  over  two  thousand  dollars.  Fie  says  it's  a 
dandy." 

"  Old  Fahrway  must  be  making  money,"  put  in  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  He  is,  I  guess.  Jack  told  me  they  were  shipping 
Vega-cura  to  Australia  now — said  they  sent  a  whole  box 
to  Cape  Town  last  week." 

"  Just  think  of  that!  "  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood,  "  and  only 
four  years  ago  they  had  that  basement  in  Madison  Street." 

"  Jack  told  me  they  were  going  to  put  up  a  six-story 
building  next  spring  in  Robey  Street." 

"  Just  think  of  that!  "  said  Jessica. 

Onthis  particular  occasion  Hurstwood  wished  to  leave 
early. 

"  I  guess  I'll  be  going  down  town,"  he  remarked,  rising. 

"  Are  we  going  to  McVicker's  Monday?  "  questioned 
Mrs.  Hurstwood,  without  rising. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  indifferently. 

They  went  on  dining,  while  he  went  upstairs  for  his  hat 
and  coat.     Presently  the  door  clicked. 


96  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I  guess  papa's  gone,"  said  Jessica. 

The  latter's  school  news  was  of  a  particular  stripe. 

"  They're  going  to  give  a  performance  in  the  Lyceum, 
upstairs,"  she  reported  one  day,  "  and  I'm  going  to  be  in 
it." 

"  Are  you?  "  said  her  mother. 

"  Yes,  and  I'll  have  to  have  a  new  dress.  Some  of  the 
nicest  girls  in  the  school  are  going  to  be  in  it.  Miss 
Palmer  is  going  to  take  the  part  of  Portia." 

"  Is  she?  "  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood. 

"  They've  got  that  Martha  Griswold  in  it  again.  She 
thinks  she  can  act." 

"  Her  family  doesn't  amount  to  anything,  does  it?  " 
said  Mrs.  Hurstwood  sympathetically.  "  They  haven't 
anything,  have  they?  " 

"  No,"  returned  Jessica,  "  they're  poor  as  church  mice." 

She  distinguished  very  carefully  between  the  young 
boys  of  the  school,  many  of  whom  were  attracted  by  her 
beauty. 

"  What  do  you  think?  "  she  remarked  to  her  mother 
one  evening ;  "  that  Herbert  Crane  tried  to  make  friends 
with  me." 

'*  Who  is  he,  my  dear?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Hurstwood. 

"  Oh,  no  one,"  said  Jessica,  pursing  her  pretty  lips. 
"  He's  just  a  student  there.     He  hasn't  anything." 

The  other  half  of  this  picture  came  when  young  Bly- 
ford,  son  of  Blyford,  the  soap  manufacturer,  walked  home 
with  her.  Mrs.  Hurstwood  was  on  the  third  floor,  sitting 
in  a  rocking-chair  reading,  and  happened  to  look  out  at 
the  time. 

"  Who  was  that  with  you,  Jessica?  "  she  inquired,  as 
Jessica  came  upstairs. 

"  It's  Mr.  Blyford,  mamma,"  she  replied. 

"  Is  it?  "  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood. 

"  Yes,  and  he  wants  me  to  stroll  over  into  the  park 


SISTER  CARRIE  97 

with  him,"  explained  Jessica,  a  little  flushed  with  running 
up  the  stairs. 

"  All  right,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood.  "  Don't 
be  gone  long." 

As  the  two  went  down  the  street,  she  glanced  interest- 
edly out  of  the  window.  It  was  a  most  satisfactory  spec- 
tacle indeed,  most  satisfactory. 

In  this  atmosphere  Hurstwood  had  moved  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  not  thinking  deeply  concerning  it.  His  was 
not  the  order  of  nature  to  trouble  for  something  better, 
unless  the  better  was  immediately  and  sharply  contrasted. 
As  it  was,  he  received  and  gave,  irritated  sometimes  by 
the  little  displays  of  selfish  indifference,  pleased  at  times 
by  some  show  of  finery  which  supposedly  made  for 
dignity  and  social  distinction.  The  life  of  the  resort 
which  he  managed  was  his  life.  There  he  spent  most  of 
his  time.  When  he  went  home  evenings  the  house  looked 
nice.  With  rare  exceptions  the  meals  were  acceptable, 
being  the  kind  that  an  ordinary  servant  can  arrange.  In 
part,  he  was  interested  in  the  talk  of  his  son  and  daughter, 
who  always  looked  well.  The  vanity  of  Mrs.  Hurstwood 
caused  her  to  keep  her  person  rather  showily  arrayed,  but 
to  Hurstwood  this  was  much  better  than  plainness. 
There  was  no  love  lost  between  them.  There  was  no 
great  feeling  of  dissatisfaction.  Her  opinion  on  any  sub- 
ject was  not  startling.  They  did  not  talk  enough  together 
to  come  to  the  argument  of  any  one  point.  In  the  ac- 
cepted and  popular  phrase,  she  had  her  ideas  and  he  had 
his.  Once  in  a  while  he  would  meet  a  woman  whose 
youth,  ^sprightliness,  and  humour  would  make  his  wife 
seem  rather  deficient  by  contrast,  but  the  temporary  dis- 
satisfaction which  such  an  encounter  might  arouse  would 
be  counterbalanced  by  his  social  position  and  a  certain 
matter  of  policy.  He  could  not  complicate  his  home  life, 
because  it  might  affect  his  relations  with  his  employers. 
7 


98  SISTER  CARRIE 

They  wanted  no  scandals.  A  man,  to  hold  his  position, 
must  have  a  dignified  manner,  a  clean  record,  a  respect- 
able home  anchorage.  Therefore  he  was  circumspect  in 
all  he  did,  and  whenever  he  appeared  in  the  public  ways 
in  the  afternoon,  or  on  Sunday,  it  was  with  his  wife,  and 
sometimes  his  children.  He  would  visit  the  local  resorts, 
or  those  near  by  in  Wisconsin,  and  spend  a  few  stiff,  pol- 
ished days  strolling  about  conventional  places  doing  con- 
ventional things.     He  knew  the  need  of  it. 

When  some  one  of  the  many  middle-class  individuals 
whom  he  knew,  who  had  money,  would  get  into  trouble, 
he  would  shake  his  head.  It  didn't  do  to  talk  about  those 
things.  If  it  came  up  for  discussion  among  such  friends 
as  with  him  passed  for  close,  he  would  deprecate  the  folly 
of  the  thing.  "  It  was  all  right  to  do  it — all  men  do  those 
things — but  why  wasn't  he  careful?  A  man  can't  be  too 
careful."  He  lost  sympathy  for  the  man  that  made  a 
mistake  and  was  found  out. 

On  this  account  he  still  devoted  some  time  to  showing 
his  wife  about — time  which  would  have  been  wearisome 
indeed  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  people  he  would  meet  and 
the  little  enjoyments  which  did  not  depend  upon  her 
presence  or  absence.  He  watched  her  with  considerable 
curiosity  at  times,  for  she  was  still  attractive  in  a  way  and 
men  looked  at  her.  She  was  affable,  vain,  subject  to  flat- 
tery, and  this  combination,  he  knew  quite  well,  might  pro- 
duce a  tragedy  in  a  woman  of  her  home  position.  Owing 
to  his  order  of  mind,  his  confidence  in  the  sex  was  not 
great.  His  wife  never  possessed  the  virtues  which  would 
win  the  confidence  and  admiration  of  a  man  of  his  nature. 
As  long  as  she  loved  him  vigorously  he  could  see  how 
confidence  could  be,  but  when  that  was  no  longer  the 
binding  chain — well,  something  might  happen. 

During  the  last  year  or  two  the  expenses  of  the  family 
seemed  a  large  thing.     Jessica  wanted  fine  clothes,  and 


SISTER  CARRIE  99 

Mrs.  Hurstwood,  not  to  be  outshone  by  her  daughter,  also 
frequently  enlivened  her  apparel.  Hurstwood  had  said 
nothing  in  the  past,  but  one  day  he  murmured. 

"  Jessica  must  have  a  new  dress  this  month,"  said  Mrs. 
Hurstwood  one  morning. 

Hurstwood  was  arraying  himself  in  one  of  his  perfec- 
tion vests  before  the  glass  at  the  time. 

"  I  thought  she  just  bought  one,"  he  said. 

"  That  was  just  something  for  evening  wear,"  returned 
his  wife  complacently. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  returned  Hurstwood,  "  that  she's 
spending  a  good  deal  for  dresses  of  late." 

"  Well,  she's  going  out  more,"  concluded  his  wife,  but 
the  tone  of  his  voice  impressed  her  as  containing  some- 
thing she  had  not  heard  there  before. 

He  was  not  a  man  who  travelled  much,  but  when  he 
did,  he  had  been  accustomed  to  take  her  along.  On  one 
occasion  recently  a  local  aldermanic  junket  had  been  ar- 
ranged to  visit  Philadelphia — a  junket  that  was  to  last 
ten  days.     Hurstwood  had  been  invited. 

"  Nobody  knows  us  down  there,"  said  one,  a  gentleman 
whose  face  was  a  slight  improvement  over  gross  igno- 
rance and  sensuality.  He  always  wore  a  silk  hat  of  most 
imposing  proportions.  "  We  can  have  a  good  time."  His 
left  eye  moved  with  just  the  semblance  of  a  wink.  "  You 
want  to  come  along,  George." 

The  next  day  Hurstwood  announced  his  intention  to 
his  wife. 

"  I'm  going  away,  Julia,"  he  said,  "  for  a  few  days." 

"  Where?  "  she  asked,  looking  up. 

"  To  Philadelphia,  on  business." 

She  looked  at  him  consciously,  expecting  something 
else. 

"  I'll  have  to  leave  you  behind  this  time." 

"  All  right,"  she  replied,  but  he  could  see  that  she  was 


IOO  SISTER  CARRIE 

thinking  that  it  was  a  curious  thing.  Before  he  went  she 
asked  him  a  few  more  questions,  and  that  irritated  him. 
He  began  to  feel  that  she  was  a  disagreeable  attachment. 

On  this  trip  he  enjoyed  himself  thoroughly,  and  when 
it  was  over  he  was  sorry  to  get  back.  He  was  not  will- 
ingly a  prevaricator,  and  hated  thoroughly  to  make  ex- 
planations concerning  it.  The  whole  incident  was  glossed 
over  with  general  remarks,  but  Mrs.  Hurstwood  gave  the 
subject  considerable  thought.  She  drove  out  more, 
dressed  better,  and  attended  theatres  freely  to  make  up 
for  it. 

Such  an  atmosphere  could  hardly  come  under  the  cate- 
gory of  home  life.  It  ran  along  by  force  of  habit,  by  force 
of  conventional  opinion.  With  the  lapse  of  time  it  must 
necessarily  become  dryer  and  dryer — must  eventually  be 
tinder,  easily  lighted  and  destroyed. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  COUNSEL  OF  WINTER ;   FORTUNE'S  AMBASSADOR  • 
CALLS 

In  the  light  of  the  world's  attitude  toward  woman  and 
her  duties,  the  nature  of  Carrie's  mental  state  deserves 
consideration.  Actions  such  as  hers  are  measured  by  an 
arbitrary  scale.  Society  possesses  a  conventional  stand- 
ard whereby  it  judges  all  things.  All  men  should  be 
good,  all  women  virtuous.  Wherefore,  villain,  hast  thou 
failed? 

For  all  the  liberal  analysis  of  Spencer  and  our  modern 
naturalistic  philosophers,  we  have  but  an  infantile  percep- 
tion of  morals.  There  is  more  in  the  subject  than  mere 
conformity  to  a  law  of  evolution.  It  is  yet  deeper  than 
conformity  to  things  of  earth  alone.  It  is  more  involved 
than  we,  as  yet,  perceive.  Answer,  first,  why  the  heart 
thrills ;  explain  wherefore  some  plaintive  note  goes  wan- 
dering about  the  world,  undying;  make  clear  the  rose's 
subtle  alchemy  evolving  its  ruddy  lamp  in  light  and  rain. 
In  the  essence  of  these  facts  lie  the  first  principles  of 
morals. 

"  Oh,"  thought  Drouet,  "  how  delicious  is  my  con- 
quest." 

"  Ah,"  thought  Carrie,  with  mournful  misgivings, 
"  what  is  it  I  have  lost?  " 

Before  this  world-old  proposition  we  stand,  serious,  in- 
terested, confused ;  endeavouring  to  evolve  the  true  theory 
of  morals — the  true  answer  to  what  is  right. 

In  the  view  of  a  certain  stratum  of  society,  Carrie  was 


102  SISTER   CARRIE 

comfortably  established — in  the  eyes  of  the  starveling, 
beaten  by  every  wind  and  gusty  sheet  of  rain,  she  was  safe 
in  a  halcyon  harbour.  Drouet  had  taken  three  rooms,  fur- 
nished, in  Ogden  Place,  facing  Union  Park,  on  the  West 
Side.  That  was  a  little,  green-carpeted  breathing  spot, 
than  which,  to-day,  there  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in 
Chicago.  It  afforded  a  vista  pleasant  to  contemplate.  The 
best  room  looked  out  upon  the  lawn  of  the  park,  now  sear 
and  brown,  where  a  little  lake  lay  sheltered.  Over  the 
bare  limbs  of  the  trees,  which  now  swayed  in  the  wintry 
wind,  rose  the  steeple  of  the  Union  Park  Congregational 
Church,  and  far  off  the  towers  of  several  others. 

The  rooms  were  comfortably  enough  furnished.  There 
was  a  good  Brussels  carpet  on  the  floor,  rich  in  dull  red 
and  lemon  shades,  and  representing  large  jardinieres  filled 
with  gorgeous,  impossible  flowers.  There  was  a  large 
pier-glass  mirror  between  the  two  windows.  A  large, 
soft,  green,  plush-covered  couch  occupied  one  corner, 
and  several  rocking-chairs  were  set  about.  Some  pic- 
tures, several  rugs,  a  few  small  pieces  of  bric-a-brac,  and 
the  tale  of  contents  is  told. 

In  the  bedroom,  off  the  front  room,  was  Carrie's  trunk, 
bought  by  Drouet,  and  in  the  wardrobe  built  into  the  wall 
quite  an  array  of  clothing — more  than  she  had  ever  pos- 
sessed before,  and  of  very  becoming  designs.  There  was 
a  third  room  for  possible  use  as  a  kitchen,  where  Drouet 
had  Carrie  establish  a  little  portable  gas  stove  for  the 
preparation  of  small  lunches,  oysters,  Welsh  rarebits,  and 
the  like,  of  which  he  was  exceedingly  fond ;  and,  lastly,  a 
bath.  The  whole  place  was  cosey,  in  that  it  was  lighted 
by  gas  and  heated  by  furnace  registers,  possessing  also  a 
small  grate,  set  with  an  asbestos  back,  a  method  of  cheer- 
ful warming  which  was  then  first  coming  into  use.  By 
her  industry  and  natural  love  of  order,  which  now  devel- 
oped, the  place  maintained  an  air  pleasing  in  the  extreme. 


SISTER  CARRIE  103 

Here,  then,  was  Carrie,  established  in  a  pleasant  fash- 
ion, free  of  certain  difficulties  which  most  ominously 
confronted  her,  laden  with  many  new  ones  which  were 
of  a  mental  order,  and  altogether  so  turned  about  in  all 
of  her  earthly  relationships  that  she  might  well  have  been 
a  new  and  different  individual.  She  looked  into  her 
glass  and  saw  a  prettier  Carrie  than  she  had  seen  before ; 
she  looked  into  her  mind,  a  mirror  prepared  of  her  own 
and  the  world's  opinions,  and  saw  a  worse.  Between 
these  two  images  she  wavered,  hesitating  which  to 
believe. 

"  My,  but  you're  a  little  beauty,"  Drouet  was  wont  to 
exclaim  to  her. 

She  would  look  at  him  with  large,  pleased  eyes. 

"  You  know  it,  don't  you?  "  he  would  continue. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  would  reply,  feeling  delight 
in  the  fact  that  one  should  think  so,  hesitating  to  believe", 
though  she  really  did,  that  she  was  vain  enough  to  think 
so  much  of  herself. 

Her  conscience,  however,  was  not  a  Drouet,  interested 
to  praise.  There  she  heard  a  different  voice,  with  which 
she  argued,  pleaded,  excused.  It  was  no  just  and  sapient 
counsellor,  in  its  last  analysis.  It  was  only  an  average 
little  conscience,  a  thing  which  represented  the  world,  her 
past  environment,  habit,  convention,  in  a  confused  way. 
With  it,  the  voice  of  the  people  was  truly  the  voice  of  God. 

"  Oh,  thou  failure !  "  said  the  voice. 

"  Why?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Look  at  those  about,"  came  the  whispered  answer. 
"  Look  at  those  who  are  good.  How  would  they  scorn  to 
do  what  you  have  done.  Look  at  the  good  girls ;  how  will 
they  draw  away  from  such  as  you  when  they  know  you 
have  been  weak.     You  had  not  tried  before  you  failed." 

It  was  when  Carrie  was  alone,  looking  out  across  the 
park,  that  she  would  be  listening  to  this.     It  would  come 


104  SISTER  CARRIE 

infrequently — when  something  else  did  not  interfere, 
when  the  pleasant  side  was  not  too  apparent,  when  Drouet 
was  not  there.  It  was  somewhat  clear  in  utterance  at 
first,  but  never  wholly  convincing.  There  was  always  an 
answer,  always  the  December  days  threatened.  She 
was  alone ;  she  was  desireful ;  she  was  fearful  of  the 
whistling  wind.  The  voice  of  want  made  answer  for 
her. 

Once  the  bright  days  of  summer  pass  by,  a  city  takes 
on  that  sombre  garb  of  grey,  wrapt  in  which  it  goes  about 
its  labours  during  the  long  winter.  Its  endless  buildings 
look  grey,  its  sky  and  its  streets  assume  a  sombre  hue; 
the  scattered,  leafless  trees  and  wind-blown  dust  and 
paper  but  add  to  the  general  solemnity  of  colour.  There 
seems  to  be  something  in  the  chill  breezes  which  scurry 
through  the  long,  narrow  thoroughfares  productive  of 
rueful  thoughts.  Not  poets  alone,  nor  artists,  nor  that 
superior  order  of  mind  which  arrogates  to  itself  all  refine- 
ment, feel  this,  but  dogs  and  all  men.  These  feel  as  much 
as  the  poet,  though  they  have  not  the  same  power  of  ex- 
pression. The  sparrow  upon  the  wire,  the  cat  in  the  door- 
way, the  dray  horse  tugging  his  weary  load,  feel  the  long, 
keen  breaths  of  winter.  It  strikes  to  the  heart  of  all  life, 
animate  and  inanimate.  If  it  were  not  for  the  artificial 
fires  of  merriment,  the  rush  of  profit-seeking  trade,  and 
pleasure-selling  amusements;  if  the  various  merchants 
failed  to  make  the  customary  display  within  and  without 
their  establishments;  if  our  streets  were  not  strung  with 
signs  of  gorgeous  hues  and  thronged  with  hurrying  pur- 
chasers, we  would  quickly  discover  how  firmly  the  chill 
hand  of  winter  lays  upon  the  heart;  how  dispiriting  are 
the  days  during  which  the  sun  withholds  a  portion  of  our 
allowance  of  light  and  warmth.  We  are  more  dependent 
upon  these  things  than  is  often  thought.  We  are  insects 
produced  by  heat,  and  pass  without  it. 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 05 

In  the  drag  of  such  a  grey  day  the  secret  voice  would 
reassert  itself,  feebly  and  more  feebly. 

Such  mental  conflict  was  not  always  uppermost.  Car- 
rie was  not  by  any  means  a  gloomy  soul.  More,  she  had 
not  the  mind  to  get  firm  hold  upon  a  definite  truth.  When 
she  could  not  find  her  way  out  of  the  labyrinth  of  ill-logic 
which  thought  upon  the  subject  created,  she  would  turn 
away  entirely. 

Drouet,  all  the  time,  was  conducting  himself  in  a  model 
way  for  one  of  his  sort.  He  took  her  about  a  great  deal, 
spent  money  upon  her,  and  when  he  travelled  took  her 
with  him.  There  were  times  when  she  would  be  alone 
for  two  or  three  days,  while  he  made  the  shorter  circuits 
of  his  business,  but,  as  a  rule,  she  saw  a  great  deal  of  him. 

"  Say,  Carrie,"  he  said  one  morning,  shortly  after  they 
had  so  established  themselves,  "  I've  invited  my  friend 
Hurstwood  to  come  out  some  day  and  spend  the  evening 
with  us." 

"  Who  is  he?  "  asked  Carrie,  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  nice  man.  He's  manager  of  Fitzgerald 
and  Moy's." 

"  What's  that?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  The  finest  resort  in  town.     It's  a  way-up,  swell  place." 

Carrie  puzzled  a  moment.  She  was  wondering  what 
Drouet  had  told  him,  what  her  attitude  would  be. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Drouet,  feeling  her  thought. 
"  He  doesn't  know  anything.     You're  Mrs.  Drouet  now." 

There  was  something  about  this  which  struck  Carrie  as 
slightly  inconsiderate.  She  could  see  that  Drouet  did 
not  have  the  keenest  sensibilities. 

"Why  don't  we  get  married?"  she  inquired,  thinking 
of  the  voluble  promises  he  had  made. 

"  Well,  we  will,"  he  said,  "  just  as  soon  as  I  get  this 
little  deal  of  mine  closed  up." 

He  was  referring  to  some  property  which  he  said  he 


io6  SISTER  CARRIE 

had,  and  which  required  so  much  attention,  adjustment, 
and  what  not,  that  somehow  or  other  it  interfered  with  his 
free  moral,  personal  actions. 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  get  back  from  my  Denver  trip  in 
January  we'll  do  it." 

Carrie  accepted  this  as  basis  for  hope — it  was  a  sort  of 
salve  to  her  conscience,  a  pleasant  way  out.  Under  the 
circumstances,  things  would  be  righted.  Her  actions 
would  be  justified. 

She  really  was  riot  enamoured  of  Drouet.  She  was 
more  clever  than  he.  In  a  dim  way,  she  was  beginning 
to  see  where  he  lacked.  If  it  had  not  been  for  this,  if  she 
had  not  been  able  to  measure  and  judge  him  in  a  way,  she 
would  have  been  worse  off  than  she  was.  She  would  have 
adored  him.  She  would  have  been  utterly  wretched  in 
her  fear  of  not  gaining  his  affection,  of  losing  his  interest, 
of  being  swept  away  and  left  without  an  anchorage.  As 
it  was,  she  wavered  a  little,  slightly  anxious,  at  first,  to 
gain  him  completely,  but  later  feeling  at  ease  in  waiting. 
She  was  not  exactly  sure  what  she  thought  of  him — what 
she  wanted  to  do. 

When  Hurstwood  called,  she  met  a  man  who  was  more 
clever  than  Drouet  in  a  hundred  ways.  He  paid  that 
peculiar  deference  to  women  which  every  member  of  the 
sex  appreciates.  He  was  not  overawed,  he  was  not  over- 
bold. His  great  charm  was  attentiveness.  Schooled  in 
winning  those  birds  of  fine  feather  among  his  own  sex, 
the  merchants  and  professionals  who  visited  his  resort, 
he  could  use  even  greater  tact  when  endeavouring  to 
prove  agreeable  to  some  one  who  charmed  him.  In  a 
pretty  woman  of  any  refinement  of  feeling  whatsoever  he 
found  his  greatest  incentive.  He  was  mild,  placid, 
assured,  giving  the  impression  that  he  wished  to  be  of 
service  only — to  do  something  which  would  make  the 
lady  more  pleased. 


SISTER  CARRIE  107 

Drouet  had  ability  in  this  line  himself  when  the  game 
was  worth  the  candle,  but  he  was  too  much  the  egotist 
to  reach  the  polish  which  Hurstwood  possessed.  He  was 
too  buoyant,  too  full  of  ruddy  life,  too  assured.  He  suc- 
ceeded with  many  who  were  not  quite  schooled  in  the  art 
of  love.  He  failed  dismally  where  the  woman  was  slightly 
experienced  and  possessed  innate  refinement.  In  the  case 
of  Carrie  he  found  a  woman  who  was  all  of  the  latter,  but 
none  of  the  former.  He  was  lucky  in  the  fact  that  oppor- 
tunity tumbled  into  his  lap,  as  it  were.  A  few  years 
later,  with  a  little  more  experience,  the  slightest  tide  of 
success,  and  he  had  not  been  able  to  approach  Carrie 
at  all. 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  piano  here,  Drouet,"  said  Hurst- 
wood, smiling  at  Carrie,  on  the  evening  in  question,  "  so 
that  your  wife  could  play." 

Drouet  had  not  thought  of  that. 

"  So  we  ought,"  he  observed  readily. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  play,"  ventured  Carrie. 

"  It  isn't  very  difficult,"  returned  Hurstwood.  "  You 
could  do  very  well  in  a  few  weeks." 

He  was  in  the  best  form  for  entertaining  this  evening. 
His  clothes  were  particularly  new  and  rich  in  appearance. 
The  coat  lapels  stood  out  with  that  medium  stiffness 
which  excellent  cloth  possesses.  The  vest  was  of  a  rich 
Scotch  plaid,  set  with  a  double  row  of  round  mother-of- 
pearl  buttons.  His  cravat  was  a  shiny  combination  of 
silken  threads,  not  loud,  not  inconspicuous.  What  he 
wore  did  not  strike  the  eye  so  forcibly  as  that  which 
Drouet  had  on,  but  Carrie  could  see  the  elegance  of  the 
material.  Hurstwood's  shoes  were  of  soft,  black  calf, 
polished  only  to  a  dull  shine.  Drouet  wore  patent  leather, 
but  Carrie  could  not  help  feeling  that  there  was  a  distinc- 
tion in  favour  of  the  soft  leather,  where  all  else  was  so 
rich.      She  noticed  these  things  almost  unconsciously. 


108  SISTER   CARRIE 

They  were  things  which  would  naturally  flow  from  the 
situation.     She  was  used  to  Drouet's  appearance. 

"  Suppose  we  have  a  little  game  of  euchre?  "  suggested 
Hurstwood,  after  a  light  round  of  conversation.  He  was 
rather  dexterous  in  avoiding  everything  that  would  sug- 
gest that  he  knew  anything  of  Carrie's  past.  He  kept  away 
from  personalities  altogether,  and  confined  himself  to 
those  things  which  did  not  concern  individuals  at  all.  By 
his  manner,  he  put  Carrie  at  her  ease,  and  by  his  deference 
and  pleasantries  he  amused  her.  He  pretended  to  be 
seriously  interested  in  all  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  play,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Charlie,  you  are  neglecting  a  part  of  your  duty,"  he 
observed  to  Drouet  most  affably.  "  Between  us,  though," 
he  went  on,  "  we  can  show  you." 

By  his  tact  he  made  Drouet  feel  that  he  admired  his 
choice.  There  was  something  in  his  manner  that  showed 
that  he  was  pleased  to  be  there.  Drouet  felt  really  closer 
to  him  than  ever  before.  It  gave  him  more  respect  for 
Carrie.  Her  appearance  came  into  a  new  light,  under 
Hurstwood's  appreciation.  The  situation  livened  con- 
siderably. 

"  Now,  let  me  see,"  said  Hurstwood,  looking  over  Car- 
rie's shoulder  very  deferentially.  "What  have  you?" 
He  studied  for  a  moment.  "  That's  rather  good,"  he 
said. 

"  You're  lucky.  Now,  I'll  show  you  how  to  trounce 
your  husband.     You  take  my  advice." 

"  Here,"  said  Drouet,  "  if  you  two  are  going  to  scheme 
together,  I  won't  stand  a  ghost  of  a  show.  Hurstwood's 
a  regular  sharp." 

"  No,  it's  your  wife.  She  brings  me  luck.  Why 
shouldn't  she  win?  " 

Carrie  looked  gratefully  at  Hurstwood,  and  smiled  at 
Drouet.     The  former  took  the  air  of  a  mere  friend.     He 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 09 

was  simply  there  to  enjoy  himself.  Anything  that  Carrie 
did  was  pleasing  to  him,  nothing  more. 

"  There,"  he  said,  holding  back  one  of  his  own  good 
cards,  and  giving  Carrie  a  chance  to  take  a  trick.  "  I 
count  that  clever  playing  for  a  beginner." 

The  latter  laughed  gleefully  as  she  saw  the  hand  coming 
her  way.  It  was  as  if  she  were  invincible  when  Hurst- 
wood  helped  her. 

He  did  not  look  at  her  often.  When  he  did,  it  was 
with  a  mild  light  in  his  eye.  Not  a  shade  was  there  of 
anything  save  geniality  and  kindness.  He  took  back  the 
shifty,  clever  gleam,  and  replaced  it  with  one  of  innocence. 
Carrie  could  not  guess  but  that  it  was  pleasure  with  him 
in  the  immediate  thing.  She  felt  that  he  considered  she 
was  doing  a  great  deal. 

"  It's  unfair  to  let  such  playing  go  without  earning 
something,"  he  said  after  a  time,  slipping  his  finger  into 
the  little  coin  pocket  of  his  coat.     "  Let's  play  for  dimes." 

"  All  right,"  said  Drouet,  fishing  for  bills. 

Hurstwood  was  quicker.  His  fingers  were  full  of  new 
ten-cent  pieces.  "  Here  we  are,"  he  said,  supplying  each 
one  with  a  little  stack. 

"  Oh,  this  is  gambling,"  smiled  Carrie.     "  It's  bad." 

"  No,"  said  Drouet,  "  only  fun.  If  you  never  play  for 
more  than  that,  you  will  go  to  Heaven." 

"  Don't  you  moralise,"  said  Hurstwood  to  Carrie 
gently,  "  until  you  see  what  becomes  of  the  money." 

Drouet  smiled. 

"  If  your  husband  gets  them,  he'll  tell  you  how  bad 
it  is." 

Drouet  laughed  loud. 

There  was  such  an  ingratiating  tone  about  Hurstwood's 
voice,  the  insinuation  was  so  perceptible  that  even  Carrie 
got  the  humour  of  it. 

"  When  do  you  leave?  "  said  Hurstwood  to  Drouet. 


HO  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  On  Wednesday,"  he  replied. 

"  It's  rather  hard  to  have  your  husband  running  about 
like  that,  isn't  it?  "  said  Hurstwood,  addressing  Carrie. 
"  She's  going  along  with  me  this  time,"  said  Drouet. 
"  You  must  both  go  with  me  to  the  theatre  before  you 

go" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Drouet.     "  Eh,  Carrie?  " 

"  I'd  like  it  ever  so  much,"  she  replied. 

Hurstwood  did  his  best  to  see  that  Carrie  won  the 
money.  He  rejoiced  in  her  success,  kept  counting  her 
winnings,  and  finally  gathered  and  put  them  in  her  ex- 
tended hand.  They  spread  a  little  lunch,  at  which  he 
served  the  wine,  and  afterwards  he  used  fine  tact  in  going. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  addressing  first  Carrie  and  then 
Drouet  with  his  eyes,  "  you  must  be  ready  at  7.30.  I'll 
come  and  get  you." 

They  went  with  him  to  the  door  and  there  was  his  cab 
waiting,  its  red  lamps  gleaming  cheerfully  in  the  shadow. 

"  Now,"  he  observed  to  Drouet,  with  a  tone  of  good- 
fellowship,  "  when  you  leave  your  wife  alone,  you  must 
let  me  show  her  around  a  little.  It  will  break  up  her 
loneliness." 

"  Sure,"  said  Drouet,  quite  pleased  at  the  attention 
shown. 

"  You're  so  kind,"  observed  Carrie. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Hurstwood,  "  I  would  want  your 
husband  to  do  as  much  for  me." 

He  smiled  and  went  lightly  away.  Carrie  was  thor- 
oughly impressed.  She  had  never  come  in  contact  with 
such  grace.     As  for  Drouet,  he  was  equally  pleased. 

"  There's  a  nice  man,"  he  remarked  to  Carrie,  as  they 
returned  to  their  cosey  chamber.  "  A  good  friend  of 
mine,  too." 

"  He  seems  to  be,"  said  Carrie. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   PERSUASION   OF   FASHION  :    FEELING   GUARDS   O'ER 
ITS  OWN 

Carrie  was  an  apt  student  of  fortune's  ways — of  for- 
tune's superficialities.  Seeing  a  thing,  she  would  immedi- 
ately set  to  inquiring  how  she  would  look,  properly  re- 
lated to  it.  Be  it  known  that  this  is  not  fine  feeling,  it  is 
not  wisdom.  The  greatest  minds  are  not  so  afflicted ;  and, 
on  the  contrary,  the  lowest  order  of  mind  is  not  so  dis- 
turbed. Fine  clothes  to  her  were  a  vast  persuasion ;  they 
spoke  tenderly  and  Jesuitically  for  themselves.  When 
she  came  within  earshot  of  their  pleading,  desire  in  her 
bent  a  willing  ear.  The  voice  of  the  so-called  inanimate ! 
Who  shall  translate  for  us  the  language  of  the  stones? 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  lace  collar  she  secured  frorri  Par- 
tridge's, "  I  fit  you  beautifully ;  don't  give  me  up." 

"  Ah,  such  little  feet,"  said  the  leather  of  the  soft  new 
shoes ;  "  how  effectively  I  cover  them.  What  a  pity  they 
should  ever  want  my  aid." 

Once  these  things  were  in  her  hand,  on  her  person, 
she  might  dream  of  giving  them  up ;  the  method  by  which 
they  came  might  intrude  itself  so  forcibly  that  she  would 
ache  to  be  rid  of  the  thought  of  it,  but  she  would  not  give 
them  up.  "  Put  on  the  old  clothes — that  torn  pair  of 
shoes,"  was  called  to  her  by  her  conscience  in  vain.  She 
could  possibly  have  conquered  the  fear  of  hunger  and 
gone  back ;  the  thought  of  hard  work  and  a  narrow  round 
of  suffering  would,  under  the  last  pressure  of  conscience, 


112  SISTER  CARRIE 

have  yielded,  but  spoil  her  appearance? — be  old-clothed 
and  poor-appearing  ? — never ! 

Drouet  heightened  her  opinion  on  this  and  allied  sub- 
jects in  such  a  manner  as  to  weaken  her  power  of  resist- 
ing their  influence.  It  is  so  easy  to  do  this  when  the 
thing  opined  is  in  the  line  of  what  we  desire.  In  his 
hearty  way,  he  insisted  upon  her  good  looks.  He  looked 
at  her  admiringly,  and  she  took  it  at  its  full  value.  Under 
the  circumstances,  she  did  not  need  to  carry  herself  as 
pretty  women  do.  She  picked  that  knowledge  up  fast 
enough  for  herself.  Drouet  had  a  habit,  characteristic 
of  his  kind,  of  looking  after  stylishly  dressed  or  pretty 
women  on  the  street  and  remarking  upon  them.  He  had 
just  enough  of  the  feminine  love  of  dress  to  be  a  good 
judge — not  of  intellect,  but  of  clothes.  He  saw  how  they 
set  their  little  feet,  how  they  carried  their  chins,  with  what 
grace  and  sinuosity  they  swung  their  bodies.  A  dainty, 
self-conscious  swaying  of  the  hips  by  a  woman  was  to 
him  as  alluring  as  the  glint  of  rare  wine  to  a  toper.  He 
would  turn  and  follow  the  disappearing  vision  with  his 
eyes.  He  would  thrill  as  a  child  with  the  unhindered 
passion  that  was  in  him.  He  loved  the  thing  that  women 
love  in  themselves,  grace.  At  this,  their  own  shrine,  he 
knelt  with  them,  an  ardent  devotee. 

"  Did  you  see  that  woman  who  went  by  just  now  ?  "  he 
said  to  Carrie  on  the  first  day  they  took  a  walk  together. 
"  Fine  stepper,  wasn't  she  ?  " 

Carrie  looked,  and  observed  the  grace  commended. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  she  returned,  cheerfully,  a  little  sugges- 
tion of  possible  defect  in  herself  awakening  in  her  mind. 
If  that  was  so  fine,  she  must  look  at  it  more  closely.  In- 
stinctively, she  felt  a  desire  to  imitate  it.  Surely  she  could 
do  that  too. 

When  one  of  her  mind  sees  many  things  emphasized 
and  reemphasized  and  admired,  she  gathers  the  logic 


SISTER  CARRIE  lf3 

of  it  and  applies  accordingly.  Drouet  was  not  shrewd 
enough  to  see  that  this  was  not  tactful.  He  could  not  see 
that  it  would  be  better  to  make  her  feel  that  she  was  com- 
peting with  herself,  not  others  better  than  herself.  He 
would  not  have  done  it  with  an  older,  wiser  woman,  but 
in  Carrie  he  saw  only  the  novice.  Less  clever  than  she, 
he  was  naturally  unable  to  comprehend  her  sensibility. 
He  went  on  educating  and  wounding  her,  a  thing  rather 
foolish  in  one  whose  admiration  for  his  pupil  and  victim 
was  apt  to  grow. 

Carrie  took  the  instructions  affably.  She  saw  what 
Drouet  liked ;  in  a  vague  way  she  saw  where  he  was  weak. 
It  lessens  a  woman's  opinion  of  a  man  when  she  learns  that 
his  admiration  is  so  pointedly  and  generously  distributed. 
She  sees  but  one  object  of  supreme  compliment  in  this 
world,  and  that  is  herself.  If  a  man  is  to  succeed  with 
many  women,  he  must  be  all  in  all  to  each. 

In  her  own  apartments  Carrie  saw  things  which  were 
lessons  in  the  same  school. 

In  the  same  house  with  her  lived  an  official  of  one  of  the 
theatres,  Mr.  Frank  A.  Hale,  manager  of  the  Standard, 
and  his  wife,  a  pleasing-looking  brunette  of  thirty-five. 
They  were  people  of  a  sort  very  common  in  America  to- 
day, who  live  respectably  from  hand  to  mouth.  Hale  re- 
ceived a  salary  of  forty-five  dollars  a  week.  His  wife, 
quite  attractive,  affected  the  feeling  of  youth,  and  objected 
to  that  sort  of  home  life  which  means  the  care  of  a  house 
and  the  raising  of  a  family.  Like  Drouet  and  Carrie,  they 
also  occupied  three  rooms  on  the  floor  above. 

Not  long  after  she  arrived  Mrs.  Hale  established  social 
relations  with  her,  and  together  they  went  about.  For  a 
long  time  this  was  her  only  companionship,  and  the  gossip 
of  the  manager's  wife  formed  the  medium  through  which 
she  saw  the  world.  Such  trivialities,  such  praises  of 
wealth,  such  conventional  expression  of  morals  as  sifted 


114  SISTER   CARRIE 

through  this  passive  creature's  mind,  fell  upon  Carrie  and 
for  the  while  confused  her. 

On  the  other  hand,  her  own  feelings  were  a  corrective 
influence.  The  constant  drag  to  something  better  was 
not  to  be  denied.  By  those  things  which  address  the 
heart  was  she  steadily  recalled.  In  the  apartments 
across  the  hall  were  a  young  girl  and  her  mother.  They 
were  from  Evansville,  Indiana,  the  wife  and  daughter 
of  a  railroad  treasurer.  The  daughter  was  here  to  study 
music,  the  mother  to  keep  her  company. 

Carrie  did  not  make  their  acquaintance,  but  she  saw 
the  daughter  coming  in  and  going  out.  A  few  times  she 
had  seen  her  at  the  piano  in  the  parlour,  and  not  infre- 
quently had  heard  her  play.  This  young  woman  was  par- 
ticularly dressy  for  her  station,  and  wore  a  jewelled  ring 
or  two  which  flashed  upon  her  white  fingers  as  she  played. 

Now  Carrie  was  affected  by  music.  Her  nervous  com- 
position responded  to  certain  strains,  much  as  certain 
strings  of  a  harp  vibrate  when  a  corresponding  key  of  a 
piano  is  struck.  She  was  delicately  moulded  in  sentiment, 
and  answered  with  vague  ruminations  to  certain  wistful 
chords.  They  awoke  longings  for  those  things  which 
she  did  not  have.  They  caused  her  to  cling  closer  to 
things  she  possessed.  One  short  song  the  young 
lady  played  in  a  most  soulful  and  tender  mood.  Carrie 
heard  it  through  the  open  door  from  the  parlour  below.  It 
was  at  that  hour  between  afternoon  and  night  when,  for 
the  idle,  the  wanderer,  things  are  apt  to  take  on  a  wistful 
aspect.  The  mind  wanders  forth  on  far  journeys  and  re- 
turns with  sheaves  of  withered  and  departed  joys.  Carrie 
sat  at  her  window  looking  out.  Drouet  had  been  away 
since  ten  in  the  morning.  She  had  amused  herself  with  a 
walk,  a  b6ok  by  Bertha  M.  Clay  which  Drouet  had  left 
there,  though  she  did  not  wholly  enjoy  the  latter,  and  by 
changing  her  dress  for  the  evening.    Now  she  sat  looking 


SISTER  CARRIE 


115 


out  across  the  park  as  wistful  and  depressed  as  the  nature 
which  craves  variety  and  life  can  be  under  such  circum- 
stances. As  she  contemplated  her  new  state,  the  strain 
from  the  parlour  below  stole  upward.  With  it  her 
thoughts  became  coloured  and  enmeshed.  She  reverted 
to  the  things  which  were  best  and  saddest  within  the 
small  limit  of  her  experience.  She  became  for  the  moment 
a  repentant. 

While  she  was  in  this  mood  Drouet  came  in,  bringing 
with  him  an  entirely  different  atmosphere.  It  was  dusk 
and  Carrie  had  neglected  to  light  the  lamp.  The  fire  in 
the  grate,  too,  had  burned  low. 

"  Where  are  you,  Cad  ?  "  he  said,  using  a  pet  name  he 
had  given  her. 

"  Here,"  she  answered. 

There  was  something  delicate  and  lonely  in  her  voice, 
but  he  could  not  hear  it.  He  had  not  the  poetry  in  him 
that  would  seek  a  woman  out  under  such  circumstances 
and  console  her  for  the  tragedy  of  life.  Instead,  he  struck 
a  match  and  lighted  the  gas. 

"  Hello,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you've  been  crying." 

Her  eyes  were  still  wet  with  a  few  vague  tears. 

"  Pshaw,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  want  to  do  that." 

He  took  her  hand,  feeling  in  his  good-natured  egotism 
that  it  was  probably  lack  of  his  presence  which  had  made 
her  lonely. 

"  Come  on,  now,"  he  went  on ;  "  it's  all  right.  Let's 
waltz  a  little  to  that  music." 

He  could  not  have  introduced  a  more  incongruous 
proposition.  It  made  clear  to  Carrie  that  he  could  not 
sympathise  with  her.  She  could  not  have  framed 
thoughts  which  would  have  expressed  his  defect  or  made 
clear  the  difference  between  them,  but  she  felt  it.  It  was 
his  first  great  mistake. 

What  Drouet  said  about  the  girl's  grace,  as  she  tripped 


Il6  SISTER   CARRIE 

out  evenings  accompanied  by  her  mother,  caused  Carrie 
to  perceive  the  nature  and  value  of  those  little  modish 
ways  which  women  adopt  when  they  would  presume  to  be 
something.  She  looked  in  the  mirror  and  pursed  up  her 
lips,  accompanying  it  with  a  little  toss  of  the  head,  as  she 
had  seen  the  railroad  treasurer's  daughter  do.  She  caught 
up  her  skirts  with  an  easy  swing,  for  had  not  Drouet  re- 
marked that  in  her  and  several  others,  and  Carrie  was 
naturally  imitative.  She  began  to  get  the  hang  of  those 
little  things  which  the  pretty  woman  who  has  vanity  in- 
variably adopts.  In  short,  her  knowledge  of  grace 
doubled,  and  with  it  her  appearance  changed.  She  became 
a  girl  of  considerable  taste. 

Drouet  noticed  this.  He  saw  the  new  bow  in  her  hair 
and  the  new  way  of  arranging  her  locks  which  she  affected 
one  morning. 

•  •  You  look  fine  that  way,  Cad,"  he  said. 

"  Do  I  ?  "  she  replied,  sweetly.  It  made  her  try  for 
other  effects  that  selfsame  day. 

She  used  her  feet  less  heavily,  a  thing  that  was  brought 
about  by  her  attempting  to  imitate  the  treasurer's  daugh- 
ter's graceful  carriage.  How  much  influence  the  presence 
of  that  young  woman  in  the  same  house  had  upon  her  it 
would  be  difficult  to  say.  But,  because  of  all  these  things, 
when  Hurstwood  called  he  had  found  a  young  woman 
who  was  much  more  than  the  Carrie  to  whom  Drouet  had 
first  spoken.  The  primary  defects  of  dress  and  manner 
had  passed.  She  was  pretty,  graceful,  rich  in  the  timidity 
born  of  uncertainty,  and  with  a  something  childlike  in  her 
large  eyes  which  captured  the  fancy  of  this  starched  and 
conventional  poser  among  men.  It  was  the  ancient  at- 
traction of  the  fresh  for  the  stale.  If  there  was  a  touch  of 
appreciation  left  in  him  for  the  bloom  and  unsophistica- 
tion  which  is  the  charm  of  youth,  it  rekindled  now.  He 
looked  into  her  pretty  face  and  felt  the  subtle  waves  of 


SISTER   CARRIE 


117 


young  life  radiating  therefrom.  In  that  large  clear  eye 
he  could  see  nothing  that  his  blase  nature  could  under- 
stand as  guile.  The  little  vanity,  if  he  could  have  per- 
ceived it  there,  would  have  touched  him  as  a  pleasant 
thing. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said,  as  he  rode  away  in  his  cab,  "  how 
Drouet  came  to  win  her." 

He  gave  her  credit  for  feelings  superior  to  Drouet  at 
the  first  glance. 

The  cab  plopped  along  between  the  far-receding  lines 
of  gas  lamps  on  either  hand.  He  folded  his  gloved  hands 
and  saw  only  the  lighted  chamber  and  Carrie's  face.  He 
was  pondering  over  the  delight  of  youthful  beauty. 

"  I'll  have  a  bouquet  for  her,"  he  thought.  "  Drouet 
won't  mind." 

He  never  for  a  moment  concealed  the  fact  of  her  at- 
traction for  himself.  He  troubled  himself  not  at  all  about 
Drouet's  priority.  He  was  merely  floating  those  gos- 
samer threads  of  thought  which,  like  the  spider's,  he 
hoped  would  lay  hold  somewhere.  He  did  not  know,  he 
could  not  guess,  what  the  result  would  be. 

A  few  weeks  later  Drouet,  in  his  peregrinations,  en- 
countered one  of  his  well-dressed  lady  acquaintances  in 
Chicago  on  his  return  from  a  short  trip  to  Omaha.  He 
had  intended  to  hurry  out  to  Ogden  Place  and  surprise 
Carrie,  but  now  he  fell  into  an  interesting  conversation 
and  soon  modified  his  original  intention. 

"  Let's  go  to  dinner,"  he  said,  little  recking  any  chance 
meeting  which  might  trouble  his  way. 

"  Certainly,"  said  his  companion. 

They  visited  one  of  the  better  restaurants  for  a  social 
chat.  It  was  five  in  the  afternoon  when  they  met ;  it  was 
seven-thirty  before  the  last  bone  was  picked. 

Drouet  was  just  finishing  a  little  incident  he  was  re- 
lating, and  his  face  was  expanding  into  a  smile,  when 


118  SISTER   CARRIE 

Hurstwood's  eye  caught  his  own.  The  latter  had  come  in 
with  several  friends,  and,  seeing  Drouet  and  some  woman, 
not  Carrie,  drew  his  own  conclusion. 

"  Ah,  the  rascal,"  he  thought,  and  then,  with  a  touch  of 
righteous  sympathy,  "  that's  pretty  hard  on  the  little 
girl." 

Drouet  jumped  from  one  easy  thought  to  another  as 
he  caught  Hurstwood's  eye.  He  felt  but  very  little  mis- 
giving, until  he  saw  that  Hurstwood  was  cautiously  pre- 
tending not  to  see.  Then  some  of  the  latter's  impression 
forced  itself  upon  him.  He  thought  of  Carrie  and  their 
last  meeting.  By  George,  he  would  have  to  explain  this  to 
Hurstwood.  Such  a  chance  half-hour  with  an  old  friend 
must  not  have  anything  more  attached  to  it  than  it  really 
warranted. 

For  the  first  time  he  was  troubled.  Here  was  a  moral 
complication  of  which  he  could  not  possibly  get  the  ends. 
Hurstwood  would  laugh  at  him  for  being  a  fickle  boy. 
He  would  laugh  with  Hurstwood.  Carrie  would  never 
hear,  his  present  companion  at  table  would  never  know, 
and  yet  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  was  getting  the 
worst  of  it — there  was  some  faint  stigma  attached,  and  he 
was  not  guilty.  He  broke  up  the  dinner  by  becoming 
dull,  and  saw  his  companion  on  her  car.  Then  he  went 
home. 

"  He  hasn't  talked  to  me  about  any  of  these  later 
flames,"  thought  Hurstwood  to  himself.  "  He  thinks  I 
think  he  cares  for  the  girl  out  there." 

"  He  ought  not  to  think  I'm  knocking  around,  since  I 
have  just  introduced  him  out  there,"  thought  Drouet. 

"  I  saw  you,"  Hurstwood  said,  genially,  the  next  time 
Drouet  drifted  in  to  his  polished  resort,  from  which  he 
could  not  stay  away.  He  raised  his  forefinger  indica- 
tively,  as  parents  do  to  children. 

"  An  old  acquaintance  of  mine  that  I  ran  into  just  as  I 


SISTER   CARRIE 


119 


was  coming  up  from  the  station,"  explained  Drouet. 
"  She  used  to  be  quite  a  beauty." 

"  Still  attracts  a  little,  eh  ?  "  returned  the  other,  affecting 
to  jest. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Drouet,  "  just  couldn't  escape  her  this 
time." 

"  How  long  are  you  here  ?  "  asked  Hurstwood. 

"  Only  a  few  days." 

"  You  must  bring  the  girl  down  and  take  dinner  with 
me,"  he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  you  keep  her  cooped  up  out 
there.     I'll  get  a  box  for  Joe  Jefferson." 

"  Not  me,"  answered  the  drummer.  "  Sure  I'll  come." 

This  pleased  Hurstwood  immensely.  He  gave  DrOuet 
no  credit  for  any  feelings  toward  Carrie  whatever.  He 
envied  him,  and  now,  as  he  looked  at  the  well-dressed, 
jolly  salesman,  whom  he  so  much  liked,  the  gleam  of  the 
rival  glowed  in  his  eye.  He  began  to  "  size  up  "  Drouet 
from  the  standpoints  of  wit  and  fascination.  He  began  to 
look  to  see  where  he  was  weak.  There  was  no  disputing 
that,  whatever  he  might  think  of  him  as  a  good  fellow, 
he  felt  a  certain  amount  of  contempt  for  him  as  a  lover. 
He  could  hoodwink  him  all  right.  Why,  if  he  would  just 
let  Carrie  see  one  such  little  incident  as  that  of  Thursday, 
it  would  settle  the  matter.  He  ran  on  in  thought,  almost 
exulting,  the  while  he  laughed  and  chatted,  and  Drouet 
felt  nothing.  He  had  no  power  of  analysing  the  glance 
and  the  atmosphere  of  a  man  like  Hurstwood.  He  stood 
and  smiled  and  accepted  the  invitation  while  his  friend 
examined  him  with  the  eye  of  a  hawk. 

The  object  of  this  peculiarly  involved  comedy  was  not 
thinking  of  either.  She  was  busy  adjusting  her  thoughts 
and  feelings  to  newer  conditions,  and  was  not  in  danger 
of  suffering  disturbing  pangs  from  either  quarter. 

One  evening  Drouet  found  her  dressing  herself  before 
the  glass. 


120  SISTER   CARRIE 

"  Cad,"  said  he,  catching  her,  "  I  believe  you're  getting 
vain." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  returned,  smiling. 

"  Well,  you're  mighty  pretty,"  he  went  on,  slipping  his 
arm  around  her.  "  Put  on  that  navy-blue  dress  of  yours 
and  I'll  take  you  to  the  show." 

"  Oh,  I've  promised  Mrs.  Hale  to  go  with  her  to  the 
Exposition  to-night,"  she  returned,  apologetically. 

"  You  did,  eh  ?  "  he  said,  studying  the  situation  ab- 
stractedly.   "  I  wouldn't  care  to  go  to  that  myself." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Carrie,  puzzling,  but 
not  offering  to  break  her  promise  in  his  favour. 

Just  then  a  knock  came  at  their  door  and  the  maid- 
servant handed  a  letter  in. 

"  He  says  there's  an  answer  expected,"  she  explained. 

"  It's  from  Hurstwood,"  said  Drouet,  noting  the  super- 
scription as  he  tore  it  open. 

"  You  are  to  come  down  and  see  Joe  Jefferson  with  me 
to-night,"  it  ran  in  part.  "  It's  my  turn,  as  we  agreed  the 
other  day.    All  other  bets  are  off." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  this  ?  "  asked  Drouet,  in- 
nocently, while  Carrie's  mind  bubbled  with  favourable 
replies. 

"  You  had  better  decide,  Charlie,"  she  said,  reservedly. 

"  I  guess  we  had  better  go,  if  you  can  break  that  en- 
gagement upstairs,"  said  Drouet. 

"  Oh,  I  can,"  returned  Carrie  without  thinking. 

Drouet  selected  writing  paper  while  Carrie  went  to 
change  her  dress.  She  hardly  explained  to  herself  why 
this  latest  invitation  appealed  to  her  most. 

"Shall  I  wear  my  hair  as  I  did  yesterday?"  sKe 
asked,  as  she  came  out  with  several  articles  of  apparel 
pending. 

"  Sure,"  he  returned,  pleasantly. 

She  was  relieved  to  see  that  he  felt  nothing-.    She  did 


SISTER   CARRIE  UI 

not  credit  her  willingness  to  go  to  any  fascination  Hurst- 
wood  held  for  her.  It  seemed  that  the  combination  of 
Hurstwood,  Drouet,  and  herself  was  more  agreeable 
than  anything  else  that  had  been  suggested.  She  arrayed 
herself  most  carefully  and  they  started  off,  extending 
excuses  upstairs. 

"  I  say,"  said  Hurstwood,  as  they  came  up  the  theatre 
lobby,  "  we  are  exceedingly  charming  this  evening." 

Carrie  fluttered  under  his  approving  glance. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  said,  leading  the  way  up  the  foyer  into 
the  theatre. 

If  ever  there  was  dressiness  it  was  here.  It  was  the  per- 
sonification of  the  old  term  spick  and  span. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Jefferson  ?  "  he  questioned,  as  he 
leaned  toward  Carrie  in  the  box. 

"  I  never  did,"  she  returned. 

"  He's  delightful,  delightful,"  he  went  on,  giving  the 
commonplace  rendition  of  approval  which  such  men 
know.  He  sent  Drouet  after  a  programme,  and  then  dis- 
coursed to  Carrie  concerning  Jefferson  as  he  had  heard 
of  him.  The  former  was  pleased  beyond  expression,  and 
was  really  hypnotised  by  the  environment,  the  trappings 
of  the  box,  the  elegance  of  her  companion.  Several  times 
their  eyes  accidentally  met,  and  then  there  poured  into 
hers  such  a  flood  of  feeling  as  she  had  never  before  experi- 
enced. She  could  not  for  the  moment  explain  it,  for  in 
.the  next  glance  or  the  next  move  of  the  hand  there  was 
seeming  indifference,  mingled  only  with  the  kindest  at- 
tention. 

Drouet  shared  in  the  conversation,  but  he  was  almost 
dull  in  comparison.  Hurstwood  entertained  them  both, 
and  now  it  was  driven  into  Carrie's  mind  that  here  was  the 
superior  man.  She  instinctively  felt  that  he  was  stronger 
and  higher,  and  yet  withal  so  simple.  By  the  end  of  the 
third  act  she  was  sure  that  Drouet  was  only  a  kindly  soul, 


122  SISTER   CARRIE 

but  otherwise  defective.  He  sank  every  moment  in  her 
estimation  by  the  strong  comparison. 

"  I  have  had  such  a  nice  time,"  said  Carrie,  when  it  was 
all  over  and  they  were  coming  out. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  added  Drouet,  who  was  not  in  the  least 
aware  that  a  battle  had  been  fought  and  his  defences 
weakened.  He  was  like  the  Emperor  of  China,  who  sat 
glorying  in  himself,  unaware  that  his  fairest  provinces 
were  being  wrested  from  him. 

"  Well,  you  have  saved  me  a  dreary  evening,"  returned 
Hurstwood.    "  Good-night." 

He  took  Carrie's  little  hand,  and  a  current  of  feeling 
swept  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  I'm  so  tired,"  said  Carrie,  leaning  back  in  the  car 
when  Drouet  began  to  talk. 

"  Well,  you  rest  a  little  while  I  smoke,"  he  said,  rising, 
and  then  he  foolishly  went  to  the  forward  platform  of  the 
car  and  left  the  game  as  it  stood. 


CHAPTER  XII 

OF    THE    LAMPS    OF    THE    MANSIONS  I    THE    AMBASSADOR'S 
,     '  PLEA 

Mrs.  Htirstwood  was  not  aware  of  any  of  her  hus- 
band's moral  defections,  though  she  might  readily  have 
suspected  his  tendencies,  which  she  well  understood. 
She  was  a  woman  upon  whose  action  under  provocation 
you  could  never  count.  Hurstwood,  for  one,  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  what  she  would  do  under  certain  circum- 
stances. He  had  never  seen  her  thoroughly  aroused.  In 
fact,  she  was  not  a  woman  who  would  fly  into  a  passion. 
She  had  too  little  faith  in  mankind  not  to  know  that  they 
were  erring.  She  was  too  calculating  to  jeopardise  any 
advantage  she  might  gain  in  the  way  of  information  by 
fruitless  clamour.  Her  wrath  would  never  wreak  itself 
in  one  fell  blow.  She  would  wait  and  brood,  studying 
the  details  and  adding  to  them  until  her  power  might  be 
commensurate  with  her  desire  for  revenge.  At  the  same 
time,  she  would  not  delay  to  inflict  any  injury,  big  or  little, 
which  would  wound  the  object  of  her  revenge  and  still 
leave  him  uncertain  as  to  the  source  of  the  evil.  She  was 
a  cold,  self-centred  woman,  with  many  a  thought  of  her 
own  which  never  found  expression,  not  even  by  so  much 
as  the  glint  of  an  eye. 

Hurstwood  felt  some  of  this  in  her  nature,  though  he 
did  not  actually  perceive  it.  He  dwelt  with  her  in  peace 
and  some  satisfaction.  He  did  not  fear  her  in  the  least — 
there  was  no  cause  for  it.  She  still  took  a  faint  pride 
in  him,  which  was  augmented  by  her  desire  to  have  her 


124  SISTER  CARRIE 

social  integrity  maintained.  She  was  secretly  somewhat 
pleased  by  the  fact  that  much  of  her  husband's  property 
was  in  her  name,  a  precaution  which  Hurstwood  had 
taken  when  his  home  interests  were  somewhat  more  allur- 
ing than  at  present.  His  wife  had  not  the  slightest  reason 
to  feel  that  anything  would  ever  go  amiss  with  their 
household,  and  yet  the  shadows  which  run  before  gave 
her  a  thought  of  the  good  of  it  now  and  then.  She  was  in 
a  position  to  become  refractory  with  considerable  ad- 
vantage, and  Hurstwood  conducted  himself  circumspectly 
because  he  felt  that  he  could  not  be  sure  of  anything  once 
she  became  dissatisfied. 

It  so  happened  that  on  the  night  when  Hurstwood,  Car- 
rie, and  Drouet  were  in  the  box  at  McVickar's,  George, 
Jr.,  was  in  the  sixth  row  of  the  parquet  with  the  daughter 
of  H.  B.  Carmichael,  the  third  partner  of  a  wholesale  dry- 
goods  house  of  that  city.  Hurstwood  did  not  see  his  son, 
for  he  sat,  as  was  his  wont,  as  far  back  as  possible,  leaving 
himself  just  partially  visible,  when  he  bent  forward,  to 
those  within  the  first  six  rows  in  question.  It  was  his 
wont  to  sit  this  way  in  every  theatre — to  make  his  person- 
ality as  inconspicuous  as  possible  where  it  would  be  no 
advantage  to  him  to  have  it  otherwise. 

He  never  moved  but  what,  if  there  was  any  danger  of 
his  conduct  being  misconstrued  or  ill-reported,  he  looked 
carefully  about  him  and  counted  the  cost  of  every  inch  of 
conspicuity. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  his  son  said : 

"  I  saw  you,  Governor,  last  night." 

"  Were  you  at  McVickar's  ?  "  said  Hurstwood,  with  the 
best  grace  in  the  world. 

"  Yes,"  said  young  George. 

"  Who  with  ?  " 

"Miss  Carmichael." 

Mrs.  Hurstwood  directed  an  inquiring  glance  at  her 


SISTER   CARRIE 


125 


husband,  but  could  not  judge  from  his  appearance 
whether  it  was  any  more  than  a  casual  look  into  the 
theatre  which  was  referred  to. 

"  How  was  the  play  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Very  good,"  returned  Hurstwood,  "  only  it's  the 
same  old  thing,  '  Rip  Van  Winkle.'  " 

"  Whom  did  you  go  with  ?  "  queried  his  wife,  with  as- 
sumed indifference. 

"  Charlie  Drouet  and  his  wife.  They  are  friends  of 
Moy's,  visiting  here." 

Owing  to  the  peculiar  nature  of  his  position,  such  a  dis- 
closure as  this  would  ordinarily  create  no  difficulty.  His 
wife  took  it  for  granted  that  his  situation  called  for  certain 
social  movements  in  which  she  might  not  be  included. 
But  of  late  he  had  pleaded  office  duty  on  several  occasions 
when  his  wife  asked  for  his  company  to  any  evening  en- 
tertainment. He  had  done  so  in  regard  to  the  very  even- 
ing in  question  only  the  morning  before. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  be  busy,"  she  remarked, 
very  carefully. 

"  So  I  was,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  couldn't  help  the  inter- 
ruption, but  I  made  up  for  it  afterward  by  working  until 
two." 

This  settled  the  discussion  for  the  time  being,  but 
there  was  a  residue  of  opinion  which  was  not  satisfactory. 
There  was  no  time  at  which  the  claims  of  his  wife  could 
have  been  more  unsatisfactorily  pushed.  For  years  he 
had  been  steadily  modifying  his  matrimonial  devotion, 
and  found  her  company  dull.  Now  that  a  new  light  shone 
upon  the  horizon,  this  older  luminary  paled  in  the  west. 
He  was  satisfied  to  turn  his  face  away  entirely,  and  any 
call  to  look  back  was  irksome. 

She,  on  the  contrary,  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  accept 
anything  less  than  a  complete  fulfilment  of  the  letter  of 
their  relationship,  though  the  spirit  might  be  wanting. 


126  SISTER   CARRIE 

11  We  are  coming  down  town  this  afternoon,"  she  re- 
marked, a  few  days  later.  "  I  want  you  to  come  over  to 
Kinsley's  and  meet  Mr.  Phillips  and  his  wife.  They're 
stopping  at  the  Tremont,  and  we're  going  to  show  them 
around  a  little." 

After  the  occurrence  of  Wednesday,  he  could  not  re- 
fuse, though  the  Phillips  were  about  as  uninteresting  as 
vanity  and  ignorance  could  make  them.  He  agreed,  but 
it  was  with  short  grace.  He  was  angry  when  he  left  the 
house. 

"  I'll  put  a  stop  to  this,"  he  thought.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
be  bothered  fooling  around  with  visitors  when  I  have 
work  to  do." 

Not  long  after  this  Mrs.  Hurstwood  came  with  a  sim- 
ilar proposition,  only  it  was  to  a  matinee  this  time. 

"  My  dear,"  he  returned,  "  I  haven't  time.  I'm  too 
busy." 

"  You  find  time  to  go  with  other  people,  though,"  she 
replied,  with  considerable  irritation. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  answered.  "  I  can't  avoid 
business  relations,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  she  exclaimed.  Her  lips  tightened. 
The  feeling  of  mutual  antagonism  was  increased. 

On  the  other  hand,  his  interest  in  Drouet's  little  shop- 
girl grew  in  an  almost  evenly  balanced  proportion.  That 
young  lady,  under  the  stress  of  her  situation  and  the  tute- 
lage of  her  new  friend,  changed  effectively.  She  had  the 
aptitude  of  the  struggler  who  seeks  emancipation.  The 
glow  of  a  more  showy  life  was  not  lost  upon  her.  She  did 
not  grow  in  knowledge  so  much  as  she  awakened  in  the 
matter  of  desire.  Mrs.  Hale's  extended  harangues  upon 
the  subjects  of  wealth  and  position  taught  her  to  distin- 
guish between  degrees  of  wealth. 

Mrs.  Hale  loved  to  drive  in  the  afternoon  in  the  sun 
when  it  was  fine,  and  to  satisfy  her  soul  with  a  sight  of 


SISTER   CARRIE  12/ 

those  mansions  and  lawns  which  she  could  not  afford. 
On  the  North  Side  had  been  erected  a  number  of  elegant 
mansions  along  what  is  now  known  as  the  North  Shore 
Drive.  The  present  lake  wall  of  stone  and  granitoid  was 
not  then  in  place,  but  the  road  had  been  well  laid  out,  the 
intermediate  spaces  of  lawn  were  lovely  to  look  upon,  and 
the  houses  were  thoroughly  new  and  imposing.  When 
the  winter  season  had  passed  and  the  first  fine  days  of  the 
early  spring  appeared,  Mrs.  Hale  secured  a  buggy  for 
an  afternoon  and  invited  Carrie.  They  rode  first  through 
Lincoln  Park  and  on  far  out  towards  Evanston,  turning 
back  at  four  and  arriving  at  the  north  end  of  the  Shore 
Drive  at  about  five  o'clock.  At  this  time  of  year  the 
days  are  still  comparatively  short,  and  the  shadows  of  the 
evening  were  beginning  to  settle  down  upon  the  great 
city.  Lamps  were  beginning  to  burn  with  that  mellow 
radiance  which  seems  almost  watery  and  translucent  to 
the  eye.  There  was  a  softness  in  the  air  which  speaks 
with  an  infinite  delicacy  of  feeling  to  the  flesh  as  well  as 
to  the  soul.  Carrie  felt  that  it  was  a  lovely  day.  She  was 
ripened  by  it  in  spirit  for  many  suggestions.  As  they 
drove  along  the  smooth  pavement  an  occasional  carriage 
passed.  She  saw  one  stop  and  the  footman  dismount, 
opening  the  door  for  a  gentleman  who  seemed  to  be 
leisurely  returning  from  some  afternoon  pleasure. 
Across  the  broad  lawns,  now  first  freshening  into  green, 
she  saw  lamps  faintly  glowing  upon  rich  interiors.  Now 
it  was  but  a  chair,  now  a  table,  now  an  ornate  corner, 
which  met  her  eye,  but  it  appealed  to  her  as  almost  noth- 
ing else  could.  Such  childish  fancies  as  she  had  had 
of  fairy  palaces  and  kingly  quarters  now  came  back.  She 
imagined  that  across  these  richly  carved  entrance-ways, 
where  the  globed  and  crystalled  lamps  shone  upon  pan- 
elled doors  set  with  stained  and  designed  panes  of  glass, 
was  neither  care  nor  unsatisfied  desire.    She  was  perfectly 


128  SISTER  CARRIE 

certain  that  here  was  happiness.  If  she  could  but  stroll 
up  yon  broad  walk,  cross  that  rich  entrance-way,  which 
to  her  was  of  the  beauty  of  a  jewel,  and  sweep  in  grace  and 
luxury  to  possession  and  command — oh !  how  quickly 
would  sadness  flee;  how,  in  an  instant,  would  the  heart- 
ache end.  She  gazed  and  gazed,  wondering,  delighting, 
longing,  and  all  the  while  the  siren  voice  of  the  unrestful 
was  whispering  in  her  ear. 

"  If  we  could  have  such  a  home  as  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Hale  sadly,  "  how  delightful  it  would  be." 

"  And  yet  they  do  say,"  said  Carrie,  "  that  no  one  is 
ever  happy." 

She  had  heard  so  much  of  the  canting  philosophy  of 
the  grapeless  fox. 

"  I  notice,"  said  Mrs.  Hale,  "  that  they  all  try  mighty 
hard,  though,  to  take  their  misery  in  a  mansion." 

When  she  came  to  her  own  rooms,  Carrie  saw  their 
comparative  insignificance.  She  was  not  so  dull  but 
that  she  could  perceive  they  were  but  three  small  rooms  in 
a  moderately  well-furnished  boarding-house.  She  was 
not  contrasting  it  now  with  what  she  had  had,  but  what 
she  had  so  recently  seen.  The  glow  of  the  palatial  doors 
was  still  in  her  eye,  the  roll  of  cushioned  carriages  still 
in  her  ears.  What,  after  all,  was  Drouet  ?  What  was  she  ? 
At  her  window,  she  thought  it  over,  rocking  to  and  fro, 
and  gazing  out  across  the  lamp-lit  park  toward  the  lamp- 
lit  houses  on  Warren  and  Ashland  avenues.  She  was  too 
wrought  up  to  care  to  go  down  to  eat,  too  pensive  to  do 
aught  but  rock  and  sing.  Some  old  tunes  crept  to  her 
lips,  and,  as  she  sang  them,  her  heart  sank.  She  longed 
and  longed  and  longed.  It  was  now  for  the  old  cottage 
room  in  Columbia  City,  now  the  mansion  upon  the  Shore 
Drive,  now  the  fine  dress  of  some  lady,  now  the  elegance 
of  some  scene.  She  was  sad  beyond  measure,  and  yet  un- 
certain, wishing,  fancying.    Finally,  it  seemed  as  if  all  her 


SISTER   CARRIE 


129 


state  was  one  of  loneliness  and  forsakenness,  and  she 
could  scarce  refrain  from  trembling  at  the  lip.  She 
hummed  and  hummed  as  the  moments  went  by,  sitting 
in  the  shadow  by  the  window,  and  was  therein  as  happy, 
though  she  did  not  perceive  it,  as  she  ever  would  be. 

While  Carrie  was  still  in  this  frame  of  mind,  the  house- 
servant  brought  up  the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Hurstwood 
was  in  the  parlour  asking  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Drouet. 

'*  I  guess  he  doesn't  know  that  Charlie  is  out  of  town," 
thought  Carrie. 

She  had  seen  comparatively  little  of  the  manager  during 
the  winter,  but  had  been  kept  constantly  in  mind  of  him  by 
one  thing  and  another,  principally  by  the  strong  impres- 
sion he  had  made.  She  was  quite  disturbed  for  the  mo- 
ment as  to  her  appearance,  but  soon  satisfied  herself  by 
the  aid  of  the  mirror,  and  went  below. 

Hurstwood  was  in  his  best  form,  as  usual.  He  hadn't 
heard  that  Drouet  was  out  of  town.  He  was  but  slightly 
affected  by  the  intelligence,  and  devoted  himself  to  the 
more  general  topics  which  would  interest  Carrie.  It  was 
surprising — the  ease  with  which  he  conducted  a  conver- 
sation. He  was  like  every  man  who  has  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  practice  and  knows  he  has  sympathy.  He 
knew  that  Carrie  listened  to  him  pleasurably,  and,  without 
the  least  effort,  he  fell  into  a  train  of  observation  which  ab- 
sorbed her  fancy.  He  drew  up  his  chair  and  modulated 
his  voice  to  such  a  degree  that  what  he  said  seemed 
wholly  confidential.  He  confined  himself  almost  ex- 
clusively to  his  observation  of  men  and  pleasures.  He 
had  been  here  and  there,  he  had  seen  this  and  that. 
Somehow  he  made  Carrie  wish  to  see  similar  things, 
and  all  the  while  kept  her  aware  of  himself.  She  could  not 
shut  out  the  consciousness  of  his  individuality  and  pres- 
ence for  a  moment.  He  would  raise  his  eyes  slowly  in 
smiling  emphasis  of  something,  and  she  was  fixed  by 


130  SISTER   CARRIE 

their  magnetism.  He  would  draw  out,  with  the  easiest 
grace,  her  approval.  Once  he  touched  her  hand  for  em- 
phasis and  she  only  smiled.  He  seemed  to  radiate  an 
atmosphere  which  suffused  her  being.  He  was  never  dull 
for  a  minute,  and  seemed  to  make  her  clever.  At  least, 
she  brightened  under  his  influence  until  all  her  best  side 
was  exhibited.  She  felt  that  she  was  more  clever  with  him 
than  with  others.  At  least,  he  seemed  to  find  so  much  in 
her  to  applaud.  There  was  not  the  slightest  touch  of 
patronage.    Drouet  was  full  of  it. 

There  had  been  something  so  personal,  so  subtle,  in 
each  meeting  between  them,  both  when  Drouet  was  pres- 
ent and  when  he  was  absent,  that  Carrie  could  not  speak 
of  it  without  feeling  a  sense  of  difficulty.  She  was  no 
talker.  She  could  never  arrange  her  thoughts  in  fluent 
order.  It  was  always  a  matter  of  feeling  with  her,  strong 
and  deep.  Each  time  there  had  been  no  sentence  of  im- 
portance which  she  could  relate,  and  as  for  the  glances  and 
sensations,  what  woman  would  reveal  them  ?  Such  things 
had  never  been  between  her  and  Drouet.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  could  never  be.  She  had  been  dominated  by 
distress  and  the  enthusiastic  forces  of  relief  which  Drouet 
represented  at  an  opportune  moment  when  she  yielded  to 
him.  Now  she  was  persuaded  by  secret  current  feelings 
which  Drouet  had  never  understood.  Hurstwood's 
glance  was  as  effective  as  the  spoken  words  of  a  lover, 
and  more.  They  called  for  no  immediate  decision,  and 
could  not  be  answered. 

People  in  general  attach  too  much  importance  to 
words.  They  are  under  the  illusion  that  talking  effects 
great  results.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  words  are,  as  a  rule, 
the  shallowest  portion  of  all  the  argument.  They  but 
dimly  represent  the  great  surging  feelings  and  desires 
which  lie  behind.  When  the  distraction  of  the  tongue  is 
removed,  the  heart  listens. 


SISTER   CARRIE  131 

In  this  conversation  she  heard,  instead  of  his  words, 
the  voices  of  the  things  which  he  represented.  How  suave 
was  the  counsel  of  his  appearance !  How  feelingly  did  his 
superior  state  speak  for  itself !  The  growing  desire  he  felt 
for  her  lay  upon  her  spirit  as  a  gentle  hand.  She  did  not 
need  to  tremble  at  all,  because  it  was  invisible ;  she  did  not 
need  to  worry  over  what  other  people  would  say — what 
she  herself  would  say — because  it  had  no  tangibility.  She 
was  being  pleaded  with,  persuaded,  led  into  denying  old 
rights  and  assuming  new  ones,  and  yet  there  were  no 
words  to  prove  it.  Such  conversation  as  was  indulged 
in  held  the  same  relationship  to  the  actual  mental 
enactments  of  the  twain  that  the  low  music  of  the 
orchestra  does  to  the  dramatic  incident  which  it  is 
used  to  cover. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  the  houses  along  the  Lake  Shore 
on  the  North  Side  ?  "  asked  Hurstwood. 

"  Why,  I  was  just  over  there  this  afternoon — Mrs.  Hale 
and  I.     Aren't  they  beautiful  ?  " 

"  They're  very  fine,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  me,"  said  Carrie,  pensively.  "  I  wish  I  could  live 
in  such  a  place." 

"  You're  not  happy,"  said  Hurstwood,  slowly,  after  a 
slight  pause. 

He  had  raised  his  eyes  solemnly  and  was  looking  into 
her  own.  He  assumed  that  he  had  struck  a  deep  chord. 
Now  was  a  slight  chance  to  say  a  word  in  his  own  behalf. 
He  leaned  over  quietly  and  continued  his  steady  gaze. 
He  felt  the  critical  character  of  the  period.  She  en- 
deavoured to  stir,  but  it  was  useless.  The  whole  strength 
of  a  man's  nature  was  working.  He  had  good  cause  to 
urge  him  on.  He  looked  and  looked,  and  the  longer  the 
situation  lasted  the  more  difficult  it  became.  The  little 
shop-girl  was  getting  into  deep  water.  She  was  letting 
her  few  supports  float  away  from  her. 


132  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Oh,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  mustn't  look  at  me  like 
that." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  he  answered. 

She  relaxed  a  little  and  let  the  situation  endure,  giving 
him  strength. 

"  You  are  not  satisfied  with  life,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  weakly. 

He  saw  he  was  the  master  of  the  situation — he  felt  it. 
He  reached  over  and  touched  her  hand. 

"  You  mustn't,"  she  exclaimed,  jumping  up. 

"  I  didn't  intend  to,"  he  answered,  easily. 

She  did  not  run  away,  as  she  might  have  done.  She  did 
not  terminate  the  interview,  but  he  drifted  off  into  a 
pleasant  field  of  thought  with  the  readiest  grace.  Not 
long  after  he  rose  to  go,  and  she  felt  that  he  was 
in  power. 

"  You  mustn't  feel  bad,"  he  said,  kindly ;  "  things  will 
straighten  out  in  the  course  of  time." 

She  made  no  answer,  because  she  could  think  of  noth- 
ing to  say. 

"  We  are  good  friends,  aren't  we  ?  "  he  said,  extending 
his  hand. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Not  a  word,  then,  until  I  see  you  again." 

He  retained  a  hold  on  her  hand... 

"  I  can't  promise,"  she  said,  doubtfully. 

"  You  must  be  more  generous  than  that,"  he  said,  in 
such  a  simple  way  that  she  was  touched. 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  it  any  more,"  she  returned. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  brightening. 

He  went  down  the  steps  and  into  his  cab.  Carrie  closed 
the  door  and  ascended  into  her  room.  She  undid  her 
broad  lace  collar  before  the  mirror  and  unfastened  her 
pretty  alligator  belt  which  she  had  recently  bought. 

"  I'm  getting  terrible,"  she  said,  honestly  affected  by  a 


SISTER   CARRIE  133 

feeling  of  trouble  and  shame.  "  I  don't  seem  to  do  any- 
thing right." 

She  unloosed  her  hair  after  a  time,  and  let  it  hang  in 
loose  brown  waves.  Her  mind  was  going  over  the 
events  of  the  evening. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  murmured  at  last,  "  what  I  can 
do." 

"  Well,"  said  Hurstwood  as  he  rode  away,  "  she  likes 
me  all  right ;  that  I  know." 

The  aroused  manager  whistled  merrily  for  a  good  four 
miles  to  his  office  an  old  melody  that  he  had  not  recalled 
for  fifteen  years. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HIS   CREDENTIALS  ACCEPTED:   A   BABEL   OF  TONGUES 

It  was  not  quite  two  days  after  the  scene  between  Carrie 
and  Hurstwood  in  the  Ogden  Place  parlour  before  he 
again  put  in  his  appearance.  He  had  been  thinking 
almost  uninterruptedly  of  her.  Her  leniency  had,  in  a 
way,  inflamed  his  regard.  He  felt  that  he  must  succeed 
with  her,  and  that  speedily. 

The  reason  for  his  interest,  not  to  say  fascination,  was 
deeper  than  mere  desire.  It  was  a  flowering  out  of  feel- 
ings which  had  been  withering  in  dry  and  almost  barren 
soil  for  many  years.  It  is  probable  that  Carrie  repre- 
sented a  better  order  of  woman  than  had  ever  attracted 
him  before.  He  had  had  no  love  affair  since  that  which 
culminated  in  his  marriage,  and  since  then  time  and  the 
'world  had  taught  him  how  raw  and  erroneous  was  his 
original  judgment.  Whenever  he  thought  of  it,  he  told 
himself  that,  if  he  had  it  to  do  over  again,  he  would  never 
marry  such  a  woman.  At  the  same  time,  his  experience 
with  women  in  general  had  lessened  his  respect  for  the 
sex.  He  maintained  a  cynical  attitude,  well  grounded  on 
numerous  experiences.  Such  women  as  he  had  known 
were  of  nearly  one  type,  selfish,  ignorant,  flashy.  The 
wives  of  his  friends  were  not  inspiring  to  look  upon.  His 
own  wife  had  developed  a  cold,  commonplace  nature 
which  to  him  was  anything  but  pleasing.  What  he  knew 
of  that  under-world  where  grovel  the  beast-men  of  society 
(and  he  knew  a  great  deal)  had  hardened  his  nature.     He 


SISTER   CARRIE  135 

looked  upon  most  women  with  suspicion — a  single  eye 
to  the  utility  of  beauty  and  dress.  He  followed  them 
with  a  keen,  suggestive  glance.  At  the  same  time,  he  was 
not  so  dull  but  that  a  good  woman  commanded  his  respect. 
Personally,  he  did  not  attempt  to  analyse  the  marvel  of  a 
saintly  woman.  He  would  take  off  his  hat,  and  would 
silence  the  light-tongued  and  the  vicious  in  her  presence 
— much  as  the  Irish  keeper  of  a  Bowery  hall  will  humble 
himself  before  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  and  pay  toll  to  charity 
with  a  willing  and  reverent  hand.  But  he  would  not  think 
much  upon  the  question  of  why  he  did  so. 

A  man  in  his  situation  who  comes,  after  a  long  round  of 
worthless  or  hardening  experiences,  upon  a  young,  un- 
sophisticated, innocent  soul,  is  apt  either  to  hold  aloof, 
out  of  a  sense  of  his  own  remoteness,  or  to  draw  near  and 
become  fascinated  and  elated  by  his  discovery.  It  is  only 
by  a  roundabout  process  that  such  men  ever  do  draw  near 
such  a  girl.  They  have  no  method,  no  understanding  of 
how  to  ingratiate  themselves  in  youthful  favour,  save 
when  they  find  virtue  in  the  toils.  If,  unfortunately,  the 
fly  has  got  caught  in  the  net,  the  spider  can  come  forth 
and  talk  business  upon  its  own  terms.  So  when  maiden- 
hood has  wandered  into  the  moil  of  the  city,  when  it  is 
brought  within  the  circle  of  the  "  rounder  "  and  the  roue, 
even  though  it  be  at  the  outermost  rim,  they  can  come 
forth  and  use  their  alluring  arts. 

Hurstwood  had  gone,  at  Drouet's  invitation,  to  meet 
a  new  baggage  of  fine  clothes  and  pretty  features.  He 
entered,  expecting  to  indulge  in  an  evening  of  lightsome 
frolic,  and  then  lose  track  of  the  newcomer  forever.  In- 
stead he  found  a  woman  whose  youth  and  beauty  at- 
tracted him.  In  the  mild  light  of  Carrie's  eye  was  nothing 
of  the  calculation  of  the  mistress.  In  the  diffident  manner 
was  nothing  of  the  art  of  the  courtesan.  He  saw  at  once 
that  a  mistake  had  been  made,  that  some  difficult  condi- 


I36  SISTER  CARRIE 

tions  had  pushed  this  troubled  creature  into  his  presence, 
and  his  interest  was  enlisted.  Here  sympathy  sprang  to 
the  rescue,  but  it  was  not  unmixed  with  selfishness.  He 
wanted  to  win  Carrie  because  he  thought  her  fate 
mingled  with  his  was  better  than  if  it  were  united  with 
Drouet's.  He  envied  the  drummer  his  conquest  as  he 
had  never  envied  any  man  in  all  the  course  of  his 
experience. 

Carrie  was  certainly  better  than  this  man,  as  she  was 
superior,  mentally,  to  Drouet.  She  came  fresh  from  the 
air  of  the  village,  the  light  of  the  country  still  in  her  eye. 
Here  was  neither  guile  nor  rapacity.  There  were  slight 
inherited  traits  of  both  in  her,  but  they  were  rudimentary. 
She  was  too  full  of  wonder  and  desire  to  be  greedy.  She 
still  looked  about  her  upon  the  great  maze  of  the  city 
without  understanding.  Hurstwood  felt  the  bloom  and 
the  youth.  He  picked  her  as  he  would  the  fresh  fruit  of 
a  tree.  He  felt  as  fresh  in  her  presence  as  one  who  is 
taken  out  of  the  flash  of  summer  to  the  first  cool  breath  of 
spring. 

Carrie,  left  alone  since  the  scene  in  question,  and  hav- 
ing no  one  with  whom  to  counsel,  had  at  first  wandered 
from  one  strange  mental  conclusion  to  another,  until  at 
last,  tired  out,  she  gave  it  up.  She  owed  something  to 
Drouet,  she  thought.  It  did  not  seem  more  than  yester- 
day that  he  had  aided  her  when  she  was  worried  and  dis- 
tressed. She  had  the  kindliest  feelings  for  him  in  every 
way.  She  gave  him  credit  for  his  good  looks,  his  gen- 
erous feelings,  and  even,  in  fact,  failed  to  recollect  his 
egotism  when  he  was  absent;  but  she  could  not  feel 
any  binding  influence  keeping  her  for  him  as  against  all 
others.  In  fact,  such  a  thought  had  never  had  any 
grounding,  even  in  Drouet's  desires. 

The  truth  is,  that  this  goodly  drummer  carried  the 
doom  of  all  enduring  relationships  in  his  own  lightsome 


SISTER   CARRIE  1 37 

manner  and  unstable  fancy.  He  went  merrily  on,  as- 
sured that  he  was  alluring  all,  that  affection  followed  ten- 
derly in  his  wake,  that  things  would  endure  unchangingly 
for  his  pleasure.  When  he  missed  some  old  face,  or  found 
some  door  finally  shut  to  him,  it  did  not  grieve  him  deeply. 
He  was  too  young,  too  successful.  He  would  remain 
thus  young  in  spirit  until  he  was  dead. 

As  for  Hurstwood,  he  was  alive  with  thoughts  and 
feelings  concerning  Carrie.  He  had  no  definite  plans  re- 
garding her,  but  he  was  determined  to  make  her  confess 
an  affection  for  him.  He  thought  he  saw  in  her  drooping 
eye,  her  unstable  glance,  her  wavering  manner,  the  symp- 
toms of  a  budding  passion.  He  wanted  to  stand  near  her 
and  make  her  lay  her  hand  in  his — he  wanted  to  find  out 
what  her  next  step  would  be — what  the  next  sign  of  feel- 
ing for  him  would  be.  Such  anxiety  and  enthusiasm 
had  not  affected  him  for  years.  He  was  a  youth  again  in 
feeling — a  cavalier  in  action. 

In  his  position  opportunity  for  taking  his  evenings  out 
was  excellent.  He  was  a  most  faithful  worker  in  general, 
and  a  man  who  commanded  the  confidence  of  his  em- 
ployers in  so  far  as  the  distribution  of  his  time  was  con- 
cerned. He  could  take  such  hours  off  as  he  chose,  for  it 
was  well  known  that  he  fulfilled  his  managerial  duties 
successfully,  whatever  time  he  might  take.  His  grace, 
tact,  and  ornate  appearance  gave  the  place  an  air  which 
was  most  essential,  while  at  the  same  time  his  long  ex- 
perience made  him  a  most  excellent  judge  of  its  stock 
necessities.  Bartenders  and  assistants  might  come  and 
go,  singly  or  in  groups,  but,  so  long  as  he  was  present, 
the  host  of  old-time  customers  would  barely  notice  the 
change.  He  gave  the  place  the  atmosphere  to  which  they 
were  used.  Consequently,  he  arranged  his  hours  very 
much  to  suit  himself,  taking  now  an  afternoon,  now  an 
evening,  but  invariably  returning  between  eleven  and 


138  SISTER  CARRIE 

twelve  to  witness  the  last  hour  or  two  of  the  day's  busi- 
ness and  look  after  the  closing  details. 

"  You  see  that  things  are  safe  and  all  the  employees 
are  out  when  you  go  home,  George,"  Moy  had  once  re- 
marked to  him,  and  he  never  once,  in  all  the  period  of  his 
long  service,  neglected  to  do  this.  Neither  of  the  owners 
had  for  years  been  in  the  resort  after  five  in  the  afternoon, 
and  yet  their  manager  as  faithfully  fulfilled  this  request 
as  if  they  had  been  there  regularly  to  observe. 

On  this  Friday  afternoon,  scarcely  two  days  after  his 
previous  visit,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  see  Carrie.  He 
could  not  stay  away  longer. 

"  Evans,"  he  said,  addressing  the  head  barkeeper,  "  if 
any  one  calls,  I  will  be  back  between  four  and  five." 

He  hurried  to  Madison  Street  and  boarded  a  horse-car, 
which  carried  him  to  Ogden  Place  in  half  an  hour. 

Carrie  had  thought  of  going  for  a  walk,  and  had  put  on 
a  light  grey  woollen  dress  with  a  jaunty  double-breasted 
jacket.  She  had  out  her  hat  and  gloves,  and  was  fasten- 
ing a  white  lace  tie  about  her  throat  when  the  housemaid 
brought  up  the  information  that  Mr.  Hurstwood  wished 
to  see  her. 

She  started  slightly  at  the  announcement,  but  told  the 
girl  to  say  that  she  would  come  down  in  a  moment,  and 
proceeded  to  hasten  her  dressing. 

Carrie  could  not  have  told  herself  at  this  moment 
whether  she  was  glad  or  sorry  that  the  impressive  man- 
ager was  awaiting  her  presence.  She  was  slightly  flurried 
and  tingling  in  the  cheeks,  but  it  was  more  nervousness 
than  either  fear  or  favour.  She  did  not  try  to  conjecture 
what  the  drift  of  the  conversation  would  be.  She  only 
felt  that  she  must  be  careful,  and  that  Hurstwood  had  an 
indefinable  fascination  for  her.  Then  she  gave  her  tie  its 
last  touch  with  her  fingers  and  went  below. 

The  deep-feeling  manager  was  himself  a  little  strained 


SISTER   CARRIE  1 39 

in  the  nerves  by  the  thorough  consciousness  of  his  mis- 
sion. He  felt  that  he  must  make  a  strong  play  on  this 
occasion,  but  now  that  the  hour  was  come,  and  he  heard 
Carrie's  feet  upon  the  stair,  his  nerve  failed  him.  He  sank 
a  little  in  determination,  for  he  was  not  so  sure,  after  all, 
what  her  opinion  might  be. 

When  she  entered  the  room,  however,  her  appearance 
gave  him  courage.  She  looked  simple  and  charming 
enough  to  strengthen  the  daring  of  any  lover.  Her  ap- 
parent nervousness  dispelled  his  own. 

"  How  are  you?  "  he  said,  easily.  "  I  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  come  out  this  afternoon,  it  was  so 
pleasant." 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie,  halting  before  him,  "  I  was  just 
preparing  to  go  for  a  walk  myself." 

"  Oh,  were  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  Supposing,  then,  you  get 
your  hat  and  we  both  go  ?  " 

They  crossed  the  park  and  went  west  along  Washing- 
ton Boulevard,  beautiful  with  its  broad  macadamised  road, 
and  large  frame  houses  set  back  from  the  sidewalks.  It 
was  a  street  where  many  of  the  more  prosperous  residents 
of  the  West  Side  lived,  and  Hursiwood  could  not  help 
feeling  nervous  over  the  publicity  of  it.  They  had  gone 
but  a  few  blocks  when  a  livery  stable  sign  in  one  of 
the  side  streets  solved  the  difficulty  for  him.  He  would 
take  her  to  drive  along  the  new  Boulevard. 

The  Boulevard  at  that  time  was  little  more  than  a 
country  road.  The  part  he  intended  showing  her  was 
much  farther  out  on  this  same  West  Side,  where  there 
was  scarcely  a  house.  It  connected  Douglas  Park  with 
Washington  or  South  Park,  and  was  nothing  more  than 
a  neatly  made  road,  running  due  south  for  some  five  miles 
over  an  open,  grassy  prairie,  and  then  due  east  over  the 
same  kind  of  prairie  for  the  same  distance.  There  was 
not  a  house  to  be  encountered  anywhere  along  the  larger 


I40  SISTER  CARRIE 

part  of  the  route,  and  any  conversation  would  be  pleas- 
antly free  of  interruption. 

At  the  stable  he  picked  a  gentle  horse,  and  they  were 
soon  out  of  range  of  either  public  observation  or  hearing. 

"  Can  you  drive  ?  "  he  said,  after  a  time. 

"  I  never  tried,"  said  Carrie. 

He  put  the  reins  in  her  hand,  and  folded  his  arms. 

"  You  see  there's  nothing  to  it  much,"  he  said,  smil- 
ingly. 

"  Not  when  you  have  a  gentle  horse,"  said  Carrie. 

"  You  can  handle  a  horse  as  well  as  any  one,  after  a 
little  practice,"  he  added,  encouragingly. 

He  had  been  looking  for  some  time  for  a  break  in  the 
conversation  when  he  could  give  it  a  serious  turn.  Once 
or  twice  he  had  held  his  peace,  hoping  that  in  silence  her 
thoughts  would  take  the  colour  of  his  own,  but  she  had 
lightly  continued  the  subject.  Presently,  however,  his 
silence  controlled  the  situation.  The  drift  of  his  thoughts 
began  to  tell.  He  gazed  fixedly  at  nothing  in  particular, 
as  if  he  were  thinking  of  something  which  concerned  her 
not  at  all.  His  thoughts,  however,  spoke  for  themselves. 
She  was  very  much  aware  that  a  climax  was  pending. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  have  spent  the  happiest 
evenings  in  years  since  I  have  known  you  ?  " 

"  Have  you  ?  "  she  said,  with  assumed  airiness,  but  still 
excited  by  the  conviction  which  the  tone  of  his  voice 
carried. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  the  other  evening,"  he  added, 
"  but  somehow  the  opportunity  slipped  away." 

Carrie  was  listening  without  attempting  to  reply.  She 
could  think  of  nothing  worth  while  to  say.  Despite  all 
the  ideas  concerning  right  which  had  troubled  her 
vaguely  since  she  had  last  seen  him,  she  was  now  influ- 
enced again  strongly  in  his  favour. 

"  I  came  out  here  to-day,"  he  went  on,  solemnly,  "  to 


SISTER  CARRIE 


141 


tell  you  just  how  I  feel — to  see  if  you  wouldn't  listen  to 
me." 

Hurstwood  was  something  of  a  romanticist  after  his 
kind.  He  was  capable  of  strong  feelings — often  poetic 
ones — and  under  a  stress  of  desire,  such  as  the  present,  he 
waxed  eloquent.  That  is,  his  feelings  and  his  voice  were 
coloured  with  that  seeming  repression  and  pathos  which 
is  the  essence  of  eloquence. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on  her  arm, 
and  keeping  a  strange  silence  while  he  formulated  words, 
"that  I  love  you?" 

Carrie  did  not  stir  at  the  words.  She  was  bound  up  com- 
pletely in  the  man's  atmosphere.  He  would  have  church- 
like silence  in  order  to  express  his  feelings,  and  she  kept 
it.  She  did  not  move  her  eyes  from  the  flat,  open  scene 
before  her.  Hurstwood  waited  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  repeated  the  words. 

"  You  must  not  say  that,"  she  said,  weakly. 

Her  words  were  not  convincing  at  all.  They  were  the 
result  of  a  feeble  thought  that  something  ought  to  be  said. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  them  whatever. 

"  Carrie,"  he  said,  using  her  first  name  with  sympa- 
thetic familiarity,  "  I  want  you  to  love  me..  You  don't 
know  how  much  I  need  some  one  to  waste  a  little  affection 
on  me.  I  am  practically  alone.  There  is  nothing  in  my 
life  that  is  pleasant  or  delightful.  It's  all  work  and  worry 
with  people  who  are  nothing  to  me." 

As  he  said  this,  Hurstwood  really  imagined  that  his 
state  was  pitiful.  He  had  the  ability  to  get  off  at  a  dis- 
tance and  view  himself  objectively — of  seeing  what  he 
wanted  to  see  in  the  things  which  made  up  his  exist- 
ence. Now,  as  he  spoke,  his  voice  trembled  with  that 
peculiar  vibration  which  is  the  result  of  tensity.  It 
went  ringing  home  to  his  companion's  heart. 

"  Why,  I  should  think,"  she  said,  turning  upon  him 


142 


SISTER  CARRIE 


large  eyes  which  were  full  of  sympathy  and  feeling,  "  that 
you  would  be  very  happy.  You  know  so  much  of  the 
world." 

"  That  is  it,"  he  said,  his  voice  dropping  to  a  soft  minor, 
"  I  know  too  much  of  the  world." 

It  was  an  important  thing  to  her  to  hear  one  so  well- 
positioned  an'i  powerful  speaking  in  this  manner.  She 
could  not  help  feeling  the  strangeness  of  her  situation. 
How  was  it  that,  in  so  little  a  while,  the  narrow  life  of  the 
country  had  fallen  from  her  as  a  garment,  and  the  city, 
with  all  its  mystery,  taken  its  place  ?  Here  was  this  great- 
est mystery,  the  man  of  money  and  affairs  sitting  beside 
her,  appealing  to  her.  Behold,  he  had  ease  and  comfort, 
his  strength  was  great,  his  position  high,  his  clothing 
rich,  and  yet  he  was  appealing  to  her.  She  could  formu- 
late no  thought  which  would  be  just  and  right.  She 
troubled  herself  no  more  upon  the  matter.  She  only 
basked  in  the  warmth  of  his  feeling,  which  was  as  a 
grateful  blaze  to  one  who  is  cold.  Hurstwood  glowed 
with  his  own  intensity,  and  the  heat  of  his  passion 
was  already  melting  the  wax  of  his  companion's 
scruples. 

"  You  think,"  he  said,  "  I  am  happy ;  that  I  ought  not 
to  complain?  If  you  were  to  meet  all  day  with  people 
who  care  absolutely  nothing  about  you,  if  you  went  day 
after  day  to  a  place  where  there  was  nothing  but  show 
and  indifference,  if  there  was  not  one  person  in  all  those 
you  knew  to  whom  you  could  appeal  for  sympathy  or  talk 
to  with  pleasure,  perhaps  you  would  be  unhappy 
too." 

He  was  striking  a  chord  now  which  found  sympathetic 
response  in  her  own  situation.  She  knew  what  it  was  to 
meet  with  people  Who  were  indifferent,  to  walk  alone  amid 
so  many  who  cared  absolutely  nothing  about  you.  Had 
not  she  ?    Was  not  she  at  this  very  moment  quite  alone  ? 


SISTER  CARRIE 


H3 


Who  was  there  among  all  whom  she  knew  to  whom  she 
could  appeal  for  sympathy?  Not  one.  She  was  left  to 
herself  to  brood  and  wonder. 

"  I  could  be  content,"  went  on  Hurstwood,  "  if  I  had 
you  to  love  me.  If  I  had  you  to  go  to ;  you  for  a  com- 
panion. As  it  is,  I  simply  move  about  from  place  to  place 
without  any  satisfaction.  Time  hangs  heavily  on  my 
hands.  Before  you  came  I  did  nothing  but  idle  and  drift 
into  anything  that  offered  itself.  Since  you  came — well, 
I've  had  you  to  think  about." 

The  old  illusion  that  here  was  some  one  who  needed  her 
aid  began  to  grow  in  Carrie's  mind.  She  truly  pitied  this 
sad,  lonely  figure.  To  think  that  all  his  fine  state  should 
be  so  barren  for  want  of  her ;  that  he  needed  to  make  such 
an  appeal  when  she  herself  was  lonely  and  without 
anchor.     Surely,  this  was  too  bad. 

"  I  am  not  very  bad,"  he  said,  apologetically,  as  if  he 
owed  it  to  her  to  explain  on  this  score.  "  You  think, 
probably,  that  I  roam  around,  and  get  into  all  sorts  of  evil  ? 
I  have  been  rather  reckless,  but  I  could  easily  come  out  of 
that.  I  need  you  to  draw  me  back,  if  my  life  ever  amounts 
to  anything." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  with  the  tenderness  which  virtue 
ever  feels  in  its  hope  of  reclaiming  vice.  How  could  such 
a  man  need  reclaiming?  His  errors,  what  were  they, 
that  she  could  correct?  Small  they  must  be,  where  all 
was  so  fine.  At  worst,  they  were  gilded  affairs,  and  with 
what  leniency  are  gilded  errors  viewed. 

He  put  himself  in  such  a  lonely  light  that  she  was  deeply 
moved. 

"  Is  it  that  way?  "  she  mused. 

He  slipped  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  she  could  not 
find  the  heart  to  draw  away.  With  his  free  hand  he 
seized  upon  her  fingers.  A  breath  of  soft  spring  wind 
went  bounding  over  the  road,  rolling  some  brown  twigs 


144 


SISTER   CARRIE 


of  the  previous  autumn  before  it.  The  horse  paced 
leisurely  on,  unguided. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  softly,  "  that  you  love  me." 

Her  eyes  fell  consciously. 

"  Own  to  it,  dear,"  he  said,  feelingly ;  "  you  do,  don't 
you?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  he  felt  his  victory. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  richly,  drawing  her  so  close  that 
their  lips  were  near  together.  He  pressed  her  hand 
warmly,  and  then  released  it  to  touch  her  cheek. 

"  You  do  ?  "  he  said,  pressing  his  lips  to  her  own. 

For  answer,  her  lips  replied. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  joyously,  his  fine  eyes  ablaze,  "  you're 
my  own  girl,  aren't  you  ?  " 

By  way  of  further  conclusion,  her  head  lay  softly  upon 
his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

WITH   EYES  AND  NOT   SEEING:   ONE  INFLUENCE  WANES 

Carrie  in  her  rooms  that  evening  was  in  a  fine  glow, 
physically  and  mentally.  She  was  deeply  rejoicing  in  her 
affection  for  Hurstwood  and  his  love,  and  looked  forward 
with  fine  fancy  to  their  next  meeting  Sunday  night.  They 
had  agreed,  without  any  feeling  of  enforced  secrecy,  that 
she  should  come  down  town  and  meet  him,  though,  after 
all,  the  need  of  it  was  the  cause. 

Mrs.  Hale,  from  her  upper  window,  saw  her  come  in. 

"  Um,"  she  thought  to  herself,  "  she  goes  riding  with 
another  man  when  her  husband  is  out  of  the  city.  He 
had  better  keep  an  eye  on  her." 

The  truth  is  that  Mrs.  Hale  was  not  the  only  one  who 
had  a  thought  on  this  score.  The  house-maid  who  had 
welcomed  Hurstwood  had  her  opinion  also.  She  had  no 
particular  regard  for  Carrie,  whom  she  took  to  be  cold  and 
disagreeable.  At  the  same  time,  she  had  a  fancy  for  the 
merry  and  easy-mannered  Drouet,  who  threw  her  a  pleas- 
ant remark  now  and  then,  and  in  other  ways  extended  her 
the  evidence  of  that  regard  which  he  had  for  all  members 
of  the  sex.  Hurstwood  was  more  reserved  and  critical  in 
his  manner.  He  did  not  appeal  to  this  bodiced  function- 
ary in  the  same  pleasant  way.  She  wondered  that  he  came 
so  frequently,  that  Mrs.  Drouet  should  go  out  with  him 
this  afternoon  when  Mr.  Drouet  was  absent.  She  gave 
vent  to  her  opinions  in  the  kitchen  where  the  cook  was. 
As  a  result,  a  hum  of  gossip  was  set  going  which  moved 


146  SISTER   CARRIE 

about  the  house  in  that  secret  manner  common  to 
gossip. 

Carrie,  now  that  she  had  yielded  sufficiently  to  Hurst- 
wood  to  confess  her  affection,  no  longer  troubled  about 
her  attitude  towards  him.  Temporarily  she  gave  little 
thought  to  Drouet,  thinking  only  of  the  dignity  and  grace 
of  her  lover  and  of  his  consuming  affection  for  her.  On 
the  first  evening,  she  did  little  but  go  over  the  details  of 
the  afternoon.  It  was  the  first  time  her  sympathies  had 
ever  been  thoroughly  aroused,  and  they  threw  a  new  light 
on  her  character.  She  had  some  power  of  initiative,  latent 
before,  which  now  began  to'  exert  itself.  She  looked  more 
practically  upon  her  state  and  began  to  see  glimmerings 
of  a  way  out.  Hurstwood  seemed  a  drag  in  the  direction 
of  honour.  Her  feelings  were  exceedingly  creditable,  in 
that  they  constructed  out  of  these  recent  developments 
something  which  conquered  freedom  from  dishonour. 
She  had  no  idea  what  Hurstwood's  next  word  would  be. 
She  only  took  his  affection  to  be  a  fine  thing,  and  ap- 
pended better,  more  generous  results  accordingly. 

As  yet,  Hurstwood  had  only  a  thought  of  pleasure  with- 
out responsibility.  He  did  not  feel  that  he  was  doing 
anything  to  complicate  his  life.  His  position  was  secure, 
his  home-life,  if  not  satisfactory,  was  at  least  undisturbed, 
his  personal  liberty  rather  untrammelled.  Carrie's  love 
represented  only  so  much  added  pleasure.  He  would 
enjoy  this  new  gift  over  and  above  his  ordinary  allowance 
of  pleasure.  He  would  be  happy  with  her  and  his  own 
affairs  would  go  on  as  they  had,  undisturbed. 

On  Sunday  evening  Carrie  dined  with  him  at  a  place  he 
had  selected  in  East  Adams  Street,  and  thereafter  they 
took  a  cab  to  what  was  then  a  pleasant  evening  resort  out 
on  Cottage  Grove  Avenue  near  39th  Street.  In  the  proc- 
ess of  his  declaration  he  soon  realised  that  Carrie  took  his 
love  upon  a  higher  basis  than  he  had  anticipated.     She 


SISTER  CARRIE 


U7 


kept  him  at  a  distance  in  a  rather  earnest  way,  and  sub- 
mitted only  to  those  tender  tokens  of  affection  which 
better  become  the  inexperienced  lover.  Hurstwood  saw 
that  she  was  not  to  be  possessed  for  the  asking,  and  de- 
ferred pressing  his  suit  too  warmly. 

Since  he  feigned  to  believe  in  her  married  state  he  found 
that  he  had  to  carry  out  the  part.  His  triumph,  he  saw, 
was  still  at  a  little  distance.     How  far  he  could  not  guess. 

They  were  returning  to  Ogden  Place  in  the  cab,  when 
he  asked: 

"  When  will  I  see  you  again?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  wondering  herself. 

"  Why  not  come  down  to  The  Fair,"  he  suggested, 
"  next  Tuesday?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  so  soon,"  she  answered. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  he  added.  "  I'll  write  you, 
care  of  this  West  Side  Post-office.  Could  you  call  next 
Tuesday?  " 

Carrie  assented. 

The  cab  stopped  one  door  out  of  the  way  according  to 
his  call. 

"  Good-night,"  he  whispered,  as  the  cab  rolled  away. 

Unfortunately  for  the  smooth  progression  of  this  affair, 
Drouet  returned.  Hurstwood  was  sitting  in  his  imposing 
little  office  the  next  afternoon  when  he  saw  Drouet  enter. 

"Why,  hello, Charles,"  he  called  affably;  "back  again?" 

"  Yes,"  smiled  Drouet,  approaching  and  looking  in  at 
the  door. 

Hurstwood  arose. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  looking  the  drummer  over,  "  rosy  as 
ever,  eh?  " 

They  began  talking  of  the  people  they  knew  and  things 
that  had  happened. 

"  Been  home  yet?  "  finally  asked  Hurstwood. 


148  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  No,  I  am  going,  though,"  said  Drouet. 

"  I  remembered  the  little  girl  out  there,"  said  Hurst- 
wood,  "  and  called  once.  Thought  you  wouldn't  want 
her  left  quite  alone." 

"  Right  you  are,"  agreed  Drouet.     "  How  is  she?  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  Rather  anxious  about 
you,  though.  You'd  better  go  out  now  and  cheer  her 
up." 

"  I  will,"  said  Drouet,  smilingly. 

"  Like  to  have  you  both  come  down  and  go  to  the 
show  with  me  Wednesday,"  concluded  Hurstwood  at 
parting. 

"  Thanks,  old  man,"  said  his  friend,  "  I'll  see  what  the 
girl  says  and  let  you  know." 

They  separated  in  the  most  cordial  manner. 

"  There's  a  nice  fellow,"  Drouet  thought  to  himself  as 
he  turned  the  corner  towards  Madison. 

"  Drouet  is  a  good  fellow,"  Hurstwood  thought  to  him- 
self as  he  went  back  into  his  office,  "  but  he's  no  man  for 
Carrie." 

The  thought  of  the  latter  turned  his  mind  into  a  most 
pleasant  vein,  and  he  wondered  how  he  would  get  ahead 
of  the  drummer. 

When  Drouet  entered  Carrie's  presence,  he  caught  her 
in  his  arms  as  usual,  but  she  responded  to  his  kiss  with  a 
tremour  of  opposition. 

'■'  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  had  a  great  trip." 

"  Did  you?  How  did  you  come  out  with  that  La 
Crosse  man  you  were  telling  me  about?" 

"  Oh,  fine ;  sold  him  a  complete  line.  There  was  an- 
other fellow  there,  representing  Burnstein,  a  regular 
hook-nosed  sheeny,  but  he  wasn't  in  it.  I  made  him  look 
like  nothing  at  all." 

As  he  undid  his  collar  and  unfastened  his  studs,  pre- 
paratory to  washing  his  face  and  changing  his  clothes,  he 


SISTER  CARRIE 


149 


dilated  upon  his  trip.  Carrie  could  not  help  listening 
with  amusement  to  his  animated  descriptions. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  I  surprised  the  people  at  the 
office.  I've  sold  more  goods  this  last  quarter  than  any 
other  man  of  our  house  on  the  road.  I  sold  three  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  in  La  Crosse." 

He  plunged  his  face  in  a  basin  of  water,  and  puffed  and 
blew  as  he  rubbed  his  neck  and  ears  with  his  hands,  while 
Carrie  gazed  upon  him  with  mingled  thoughts  of  recollec- 
tion and  present  judgment.  He  was  still  wiping  his  face, 
when  he  continued: 

"  I'm  going  to  strike  for  a  raise  in  June.  They  can 
afford  to  pay  it,  as  much  business  as  I  turn  in.  I'll  get 
it  too,  don't  you  forget." 

"  I  hope  you  do,"  said  Carrie. 

"  And  then  if  that  little  real  estate  deal  I've  got  on  goes 
through,  we'll  get  married,"  he  said  with  a  great  show  of 
earnestness,  the  while  he  took  his  place  before  the  mirror 
and  began  brushing  his  hair. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  ever  intend  to  marry  me,  Charlie," 
Carrie  said  ruefully.  The  recent  protestations  of  Hurst- 
wood  had  given  her  courage  to  say  this. 

"  Oh,  yes  I  do — course  I  do — what  put  that  into  your 
head?  " 

He  had  stopped  his  trifling  before  the  mirror  now  and 
crossed  over  to  her.  For  the  first  time  Carrie  felt  as  if 
she  must  move  away  from  him. 

"  But  you've  been  saying  that  so  long,"  she  said,  look- 
ing with  her  pretty  face  upturned  into  his. 

"  Well,  and  I  mean  it  too,  but  it  takes  money  to  live  as 
I  want  to.  Now,  when  I  get  this  increase,  I  can  come 
pretty  near  fixing  things  all  right,  and  I'll  do  it.  Now, 
don't  you  worry,  girlie." 

He  patted  her  reassuringly  upon  the  shoulder,  but  Car- 
rie felt  how  really  futile  had  been  her  hopes.     She  could 


150  SISTER   CARRIE 

clearly  see  that  this  easy-going  soul  intended  no  move  in 
her  behalf.  He  was  simply  letting  things  drift  because 
he  preferred  the  free  round  of  his  present  state  to  any  legal 
trammellings. 

In  contrast,  Hurstwood  appeared  strong  and  sincere. 
He  had  no  easy  manner  of  putting  her  off.  He  sympa- 
thised with  her  and  showed  her  what  her  true  value  was. 
He  needed  her,  while  Drouet  did  not  care. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said  remorsefully,  her  tone  reflecting 
some  of  her  own  success  and  more  of  her  helplessness, 
"  you  never  will." 

"  Well,  you  wait  a  little  while  and  see,"  he  concluded. 
"  I'll  marry  you  all  right." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  and  felt  justified.  She  was  look- 
ing for  something  which  would  calm  her  conscience,  and 
here  it  was,  a  light,  airy  disregard  of  her  claims  upon  his 
justice.  He  had  faithfully  promised  to  marry  her,  and 
this  was  the  way  he  fulfilled  his  promise. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  after  he  had,  as  he  thought,  pleasantly 
disposed  of  the  marriage  question,  "  I  saw  Hurstwood 
to-day,  and  he  wants  us  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  him." 

Carrie  started  at  the  name,  but  recovered  quickly 
enough  to  avoid  notice. 

"  When?  "  she  asked,  with  assumed  indifference. 

"Wednesday.     We'll  go,  won't  we?" 

"  If  you  think  so,"  she  answered,  her  manner  being  so 
enforcedly  reserved  as  to  almost  excite  suspicion.  Drouet 
noticed  something,  but  he  thought  it  was  due  to  her  feel- 
ings concerning  their  talk  about  marriage. 

"  He  called  once,  he  said." 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie,  "  he  was  out  here  Sunday  evening." 

"Was  he?"  said  Drouet.  "I  thought  from  what  he 
said  that  he  had  called  a  week  or  so  ago." 

"  So  he  did,"  answered  Carrie,  who  was  wholly  unaware 
of  what  conversation  her  lovers  might  have  held.     She 


SISTER  CARRIE  151 

was  all  at  sea  mentally,  and  fearful  of  some  entanglement 
which  might  ensue  from  what  she  would  answer. 

"  Oh,  then  he  called  twice  ?  "  said  Drouet,  the  first 
shade  of  misunderstanding  showing  in  his  face. 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie  innocently,  feeling  now  that  Hurst- 
wood  must  have  mentioned  but  one  call. 

Drouet  imagined  that  he  must  have  misunderstood  his 
friend.  He  did  not  attach  particular  importance  to  the 
information,  after  all. 

"  What  did  he  have  to  say?  "  he  queried,  with  slightly 
increased  curiosity. 

"He  said  he  came  because  he  thought  I  might  be 
lonely.  You  hadn't  been  in  there  so  long  he  wondered 
what  had  become  of  you." 

"  George  is  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Drouet,  rather  gratified 
by  his  conception  of  the  manager's  interest.  "  Come  on 
and  we'll  go  out  to  dinner." 

When  Hurstwood  saw  that  Drouet  was  back  he  wrote 
at  once  to  Carrie,  saying: 

"  I  told  him  I  called  on  you,  dearest,  when  he  was  away. 
I  did  not  say  how  often,  but  he  probably  thought  once. 
Let  me  know  of  anything  you  may  have  said.  Answer  by 
special  messenger  when  you  get  this,  and,  darling,  I  must 
see  you.  Let  me  know  if  you  can't  meet  me  at  Jackson 
and  Throop  Streets  Wednesday  afternoon  at  two  o'clock. 
I  want  to  speak  with  you  before  we  meet  at  the  theatre." 

Carrie  received  this  Tuesday  morning  when  she  called 
at  the  West  Side  branch  of  the  post-office,  and  answered 
at  once. 

"  I  said  you  called  twice,"  she  wrote.  "  He  didn't  seem 
to  mind.  I  will  try  and  be  at  Throop  Street  if  nothing 
interferes.  I  seem  to  be  getting  very  bad.  It's  wrong 
to  act  as  I  do,  I  know." 

Hurstwood,  when  he  met  her  as  agreed,  reassured  her 
on  this  score. 


152  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  You  mustn't  worry,  sweetheart,"  he  said.  "  Just  as 
soon  as  he  goes  on  the  road  again  we  will  arrange  some- 
thing. We'll  fix  it  so  that  you  won't  have  to  deceive  any 
one." 

Carrie  imagined  that  he  would  marry  her  at  once, 
though  he  had  not  directly  said  so,  and  her  spirits  rose. 
She  proposed  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation  until 
Drouet  left  again. 

"  Don't  show  any  more  interest  in  me  than  you  ever 
have,"  Hurstwood  counselled  concerning  the  evening  at 
the  theatre. 

"  You  mustn't  look  at  me  steadily  then,"  she  answered, 
mindful  of  the  power  of  his  eyes. 

"  I  won't,"  he  said,  squeezing  her  hand  at  parting  and 
giving  the  glance  she  had  just  cautioned  against. 

"  There,"  she  said  playfully,  pointing  a  finger  at  him. 

"  The  show  hasn't  begun  yet,"  he  returned. 

He  watched  her  walk  from  him  with  tender  solicitation. 
Such  youth  and  prettiness  reacted  upon  him  more  subtly 
than  wine. 

At  the  theatre  things  passed  as  they  had  in  Hurstwood's 
favour.  If  he  had  been  pleasing  to  Carrie  before,  how 
much  more  so  was  he  now.  His  grace  was  more  per- 
meating because  it  found  a  readier  medium.  Carrie 
watched  his  every  movement  with  pleasure.  She  almost 
forgot  poor  Drouet,  who  babbled  on  as  if  he  were  the 
host. 

Hurstwood  was  too  clever  to  give  the  slightest  indica- 
tion of  a  change.  He  paid,  if  anything,  more  attention  to 
his  old  friend  than  usual,  and  yet  in  no  way  held  him  up  to 
that  subtle  ridicule  which  a  lover  in  favour  may  so  se- 
cretly practise  before  the  mistress  of  his  heart.  If  any- 
thing, he  felt  the  injustice  of  the  game  as  it  stood,  and  was 
not  cheap  enough  to  add  to  it  the  slightest  mental 
taunt. 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 53 

Only  the  play  produced  an  ironical  situation,  and  this 
was  due  to  Drouet  alone. 

The  scene  was  one  in  "  The  Covenant,"  in  which  the 
wife  listened  to  the  seductive  voice  of  a  lover  in  the  ab- 
sence of  her  husband. 

"  Served  him  right,"  said  Drouet  afterward,  even  in 
view  of  her  keen  expiation  of  her  error.  "  I  haven't  any 
pity  for'  a  man  who  would  be  such  a  chump  as  that." 

"  Well,  you  never  can  tell,"  returned  Hurstwood  gently. 
"  He  probably  thought  he  was  right." 

"  Well,  a  man  ought  to  be  more  attentive  than  that  to 
his  wife  if  he  wants  to  keep  her." 

They  had  come  out  of  the  lobby  and  made  their  way 
through  the  showy  crush  about  the  entrance  way. 

"Say,  mister,"  said  a  voice  at  Hurstwood's  side,  "would 
you  mind  giving  me  the  price  of  a  bed?  " 

Hurstwood  was  interestedly  remarking  to  Carrie. 

"  Honest  to  God,  mister,  I'm  without  a  place  to  sleep." 

The  plea  was  that  of  a  gaunt-faced  man  of  about  thirty, 
who  looked  the  picture  of  privation  and  wretchedness. 
Drouet  was  the  first  to  see.  He  handed  over  a  dime  with 
an  upwelling  feeling  of  pity  in  his  heart.  Hurstwood 
scarcely  noticed  the  incident.     Carrie  quickly  forgot. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  IRK  OF  THE  OLD  TIES  :   THE  MAGIC  OF  YOUTH 

The  complete  ignoring  by  Hurstwood  of  his  own  home 
came  with  the  growth  of  his  affection  for  Carrie.  His 
actions,  in  all  that  related  to  his  family,  were  of  the  most 
perfunctory  kind.  He  sat  at  breakfast  with  his  wife  and 
children,  absorbed  in  his  own  fancies,  which  reached  far 
without  the  realm  of  their  interests.  He  read  his  paper, 
which  was  heightened  in  interest  by  the  shallowness  of  the 
themes  discussed  by  his  son  and  daughter.  Between  him- 
self and  his  wife  ran  a  river  of  indifference. 

Now  that  Carrie  had  come,  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
blissful  again.  There  was  delight  in  going  down  town 
evenings.  When  he  walked  forth  in  the  short  days,  the 
street  lamps  had  a  merry  twinkle.  He  began  to  experience 
the  almost  forgotten  feeling  which  hastens  the  lover's  feet. 
When  he  looked  at  his  fine  clothes,  he  saw  them  with  her 
eyes — and  her  eyes  were  young. 

When  in  the  flush  of  such  feelings  he  heard  his  wife's 
voice,  when  the  insistent  demands  of  matrimony  recalled 
him  from  dreams  to  a  stale  practice,  how  it  grated.  He 
then  knew  that  this  was  a  chain  which  bound  his  feet. 

"  George,"  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood,  in  that  tone  of  voice 
which  had  long  since  come  to  be  associated  in  his  mind 
with  demands,  "  we  want  you  to  get  us  a  season  ticket  to 
the  races." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  to  all  of  them?  "  he  said  with  a 
rising  inflection. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 


SISTER  CARRIE  155 

The  races  in  question  were  soon  to  open  at  Washington 
Park,  on  the  South  Side,  and  were  considered  quite  so- 
ciety affairs  among  those  who  did  not  affect  religious 
rectitude  and  conservatism.  Mrs.  Hurstwood  had  never 
asked  for  a  whole  season  ticket  before,  but  this  year  cer- 
tain considerations  decided  her  to  get  a  box.  For  one 
thing,  one  of  her  neighbours,  a  certain  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ram- 
sey, who  were  possessors  of  money,  made  out  of  the  coal 
business,  had  done  so.  In  the  next  place,  her  favourite 
physician,  Dr.  Beale,  a  gentleman  inclined  to  horses  and 
betting,  had  talked  with  her  concerning  his  intention  to 
enter  a  two-year-old  in  the  Derby.  In  the  third  place, 
she  wished  to  exhibit  Jessica,  who  was  gaining  in  ma- 
turity and  beauty,  and  whom  she  hoped  to  marry  to  a 
man  of  means.  Her  own  desire  to  be  about  in  such 
things  and  parade  among  her  acquaintances  and  the  com- 
mon throng  was  as  much  an  incentive  as  anything. 

Hurstwood  thought  over  the  proposition  a  few  mo- 
ments without  answering.  They  were  in  the  sitting- 
room  on  the  second  floor,  waiting  for  supper.  It  was  the 
evening  of  his  engagement  with  Carrie  and  Drouet  to  see 
"  The  Covenant,"  which  had  brought  him  home  to  make 
some  alterations  in  his  dress. 

"  You're  sure  separate  tickets  wouldn't  do  as  well?  "  he 
asked,  hesitating  to  say  anything  more  rugged. 

"  No,"  she  replied  impatiently. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  taking  offence  at  her  manner,  fcyou 
needn't  get  mad  about  it.     I'm  just  asking  you." 

"  I'm  not  mad,"  she  snapped.  "  I'm  merely  asking  you 
for  a  season  ticket." 

"  And  I'm  telling  you,"  he  returned,  fixing  a  clear, 
steady  eye  on  her,  "  that  it's  no  easy  thing  to  get.  I'm 
not  sure  whether  the  manager  will  give  it  to  me." 

He  had  been  thinking  all  the  time  of  his  "  pull  "  with 
the  race-track  magnates. 


156  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  We  can  buy  it  then,"  she  exclaimed  sharply. 

"  You  talk  easy,"  he  said.  "  A  season  family  ucket 
costs  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"  I'll  not  argue  with  you,"  she  replied  with  deter- 
mination. "  I  want  the  ticket  and  that's  all  there  is 
to  it." 

She  had  risen,  and  now  walked  angrily  out  of  the  room. 

"  Well,  you  get  it  then,"  he  said  grimly,  though  in  a 
modified  tone  of  voice. 

As  usual,  the  table  was  one  short  that  evening. 

The  next  morning  he  had  cooled  down  considerably, 
and  later  the  ticket  was  duly  secured,  though  it  did  not 
heal  matters.  He  did  not  mind  giving  his  family  a  fair 
share  of  all  that  he  earned,  but  he  did  not  like  to  be 
forced  to  provide  against  his  will. 

"  Did  you  know,  mother,"  said  Jessica  another  day, 
"  the  Spencers  are  getting  ready  to  go  away?  " 

"  No.     Where,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Europe,"  said  Jessica.  "  I  met  Georgine  yesterday 
and  she  told  me.     She  just  put  on  more  airs  about  it." 

"  Did  she  say  when?  " 

"  Monday,  I  think.  They'll  get  a  notice  in  the  papers 
again — they  always  do." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood  consolingly, 
"  we'll  go  one  of  these  days." 

Hurstwood  moved  his  eyes  over  the  paper  slowly,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  '  We  sail  for  Liverpool  from  New  York,'  "  Jessica  ex- 
claimed, mocking  her  acquaintance.  "  '  Expect  to  spend 
most  of  the  "  summah  "  in  France,' — vain  thing.  As  if  it 
was  anything  to  go  to  Europe." 

"  It  must  be  if  you  envy  her  so  much,"  put  in  Hurst- 
wood. 

It  grated  upon  him  to  see  the  feeling  his  daughter  dis- 
played. 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 57 

"  Don't  worry  over  them,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  Did  George  get  off?  "  asked  Jessica  of  her  mother 
another  day,  thus  revealing  something  that  Hurstwood 
had  heard  nothing  about. 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  up.  He 
ha'd  never  before  been  kept  in  ignorance  concerning 
departures. 

"  He  was  going  to  Wheaton,"  said  Jessica,  not  noticing 
the  slight  put  upon  her  father. 

"What's  out  there?"  he  asked,  secretly  irritated  and 
chagrined  to  think  that  he  should  be  made  to  pump  for 
information  in  this  manner. 

"  A  tennis  match,"  said  Jessica. 

"  He  didn't  say  anything  to  me,"  Hurstwood  con- 
cluded, finding  it  difficult  to  refrain  from  a  bitter  tone. 

"  I  guess  he  must  have  forgotten,"  exclaimed  his  wife 
blandly. 

In  the  past  he  had  always  commanded  a  certain  amount 
of  respect,  which  was  a  compound  of  appreciation  and 
awe.  The  familiarity  which  in  part  still  existed  between 
himself  and  his  daughter  he  had  courted.  As  it  was,  it 
did  not  go  beyond  the  light  assumption  of  words.  The 
tone  was  always  modest.  Whatever  had  been,  however, 
had  lacked  affection,  and  now  he  saw  that  he  was  losing 
track  of  their  doings.  His  knowledge  was  no  longer  in- 
timate. He  sometimes  saw  them  at  table,  and  sometimes 
did  not.  He  heard  of  their  doings  occasionally,  more 
often  not.  Some  days  he  found  that  he  was  all  at  sea  as 
to  what  they  were  talking  about — things  they  had  ar- 
ranged to  do  or  that  they  had  done  in  his  absence.  More 
affecting  was  the  feeling  that  there  were  little  things  going 
on  of  which  he  no  longer  heard.  Jessica  was  beginning 
to  feel  that  her  affairs  were  her  own.  George,  Jr.,  flour- 
ished about  as  if  he  were  a  man  entirely  and  must  needs 


158  SISTER  CARRIE 

have  private  matters.  All  this  Hurstwood  could  see,  and 
it  left  a  trace  of  feeling,  for  he  was  used  to  being  con- 
sidered— in  his  official  position,  at  least — and  felt  that  his 
importance  should  not  begin  to  wane  here.  To  darken 
it  all,  he  saw  the  same  indifference  and  independence 
growing  in  his  wife,  while  he  looked  on  and  paid  the 
bills. 

He  consoled  himself  with  the  thought,  however,  that, 
after  all,  he  was  not  without  affection.  Things  might  go 
as  they  would  at  his  house,  but  he  had  Carrie  outside  of 
it.  With  his  mind's  eye  he  looked  into  her  comfortable 
room  in  Ogden  Place,  where  he  had  spent  several  such 
delightful  evenings,  and  thought  how  charming  it  would 
be  when  Drouet  was  disposed  of  entirely  and  she  was 
waiting  evenings  in  cosey  little  quarters  for  him.  That  no 
cause  would  come  up  whereby  Drouet  would  be  led  to 
inform  Carrie  concerning  his  married  state,  he  felt  hope- 
ful. Things  were  going  so  smoothly  that  he  believed 
they  would  not  change.  Shortly  now  he  would  persuade 
Carrie  and  all  would  be  satisfactory. 

The  day  after  their  theatre  visit  he  began  writing  her 
regularly — a  letter  every  morning,  and  begging  her  to  do 
as  much  for  him.  He  was  not  literary  by  any  means,  but 
experience  of  the  world  and  his  growing  affection  gave 
him  somewhat  of  a  style.  This  he  exercised  at  his  office 
desk  with  perfect  deliberation.  He  purchased  a  box  of 
delicately  coloured  and  scented  writing  paper  in  mono- 
gram, which  he  kept  locked  in  one  of  the  drawers.  His 
friends  now  wondered  at  the  cleric  and  very  official-look- 
ing nature  of  his  position.  The  five  bartenders  viewed 
with  respect  the  duties  which  could  call  a  man  to  do  so 
much  desk-work  and  penmanship. 

Hurstwood  surprised  himself  with  his  fluency.  By  the 
natural  law  which  governs  all  effort,  what  he  wrote  reacted 
upon  him.     He  began  to  feel  those  subtleties  which  he 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 59 

could  find  words  to  express.  With  every  expression  came 
increased  conception.  Those  inmost  breathings  which 
there  found  words  took  hold  upon  him.  He  thought 
Carrie  worthy  of  all  the  affection  he  could  there  express. 

Carrie  was  indeed  worth  loving  if  ever  youth  and  grace 
are  to  command  that  token  of  acknowledgment  from  life 
in  their  bloom.  Experience  had  not  yet  taken  away  that 
freshness  of  the  spirit  which  is  the  charm  of  the  body. 
Her  soft  eyes  contained  in  their  liquid  lustre  no  sugges- 
tion of  the  knowledge  of  disappointment.  She  had  been 
troubled  in  a  way  by  doubt  and  longing,  but  these  had 
made  no  deeper  impression  than  could  be  traced  in  a  cer- 
tain open  wistfulness  of  glance  and  speech.  The  mouth 
had  the  expression  at  times,  in  talking  and  in  repose,  of 
one  who  might  be  upon  the  verge  of  tears.  It  was  not 
that  grief  was  thus  ever  present.  The  pronunciation  of 
certain  syllables  gave  to  her  lips  this  peculiarity  of  for- 
mation— a  formation  as  suggestive  and  moving  as  pathos 
itself. 

There  was  nothing  bold  in  her  manner.  Life  had  not 
taught  her  domination — superciliousness  of  grace,  which 
is  the  lordly  power  of  some  women.  Her  longing  for 
consideration  was  not  sufficiently  powerful  to  move  her 
to  demand  it.  Even  now  she  lacked  self-assurance,  but 
there  was  that  in  what  she  had  already  experienced 
which  left  her  a  little  less  than  timid.  She  wanted  pleas- 
ure, she  wanted  position,  and  yet  she  was  confused  as  to 
what  these  things  might  be.  Every  hour  the  kaleido- 
scope of  human  affairs  threw  a  new  lustre  upon  some- 
thing, and  therewith  it  became  for  her  the  desired — the  all. 
Another  shift  of  the  box,  and  some  other  had  become 
the  beautiful,  the  perfect. 

On  her  spiritual  side,  also,  she  was  rich  in  feeling,  as 
such  a  nature  well  might  be.  Sorrow  in  her  was  aroused 
'  by  many  a  spectacle — an  uncritical  upwelling  of  grief  for 


160  SISTER  CARRIE 

the  weak  and  the  helpless.  She  was  constantly  pained 
by  the  sight  of  the  white-faced,  ragged  men  who  slopped 
desperately  by  her  in  a  sort  of  wretched  mental  stupor. 
The  poorly  clad  girls  who  went  blowing  by  her  window 
evenings,  hurrying  home  from  some  of  the  shops  of  the 
West  Side,  she  pitied  from  the  depths  of  her  heart.  She 
would  stand  and  bite  her  lips  as  they  passed,  shaking  her 
little  head  and  wondering.  They  had  so  little,  she 
thought.  It  was  so  sad  to  be  ragged  and  poor.  The 
hang  of  faded  clothes  pained  her  eyes. 

"  And  they  have  to  work  so  hard!  "  was  her  only  com- 
ment. 

On  the  street  sometimes  she  would  see  men  working — 
Irishmen  with  picks,  coal-heavers  with  great  loads  to  shov- 
el, Americans  busy  about  some  work  which  was  a  mere 
matter  of  strength — and  they  touched  her  fancy.  Toil,  now 
that  she  was  free  of  it,  seemed  even  a  more  desolate  thing 
than  when  she  was  part  of  it.  She  saw  it  through  a  mist 
of  fancy — a  pale,  sombre  half-light,  which  was  the  essence 
of  poetic  feeling.  Her  old  father,  in  his  flour-dusted  mil- 
ler's suit,  sometimes  returned  to  her  in  memory,  revived 
by  a  face  in  a  window.  A  shoemaker  pegging  at  his  last, 
a  blastman  seen  through  a  narrow  window  in  some  base- 
ment where  iron  was  being  melted,  a  bench-worker  seen 
high  aloft  in  some  window,  his  coat  off,  his  sleeves  rolled 
up;  these  took  her  back  in  fancy  to  the  details  of  the  mill. 
She  felt,  though  she  seldom  expressed  them,  sad  thoughts 
upon  this  score.  Her  sympathies  were  ever  with  that 
under- world  of  toil  from  which  she  had  so  recently  sprung, 
and  which  she  best  understood. 

Though  Hurstwood  did  not  know  it,  he  was  dealing 
with  one  whose  feelings  were  as  tender  and  as  delicate  as 
this.  He  did  not  know,  but  it  was  this  in  her,  after  all, 
which  attracted  him.  He  never  attempted  to  analyse  the 
nature  of  his  affection.     It  was  sufficient  that  there  was 


SISTER  CARRIE  161 

tenderness  in  her  eye,  weakness  in  her  manner,  good- 
nature and  hope  in  her  thoughts.  He  drew  near  this  lily, 
which  had  sucked  its  waxen  beauty  and  perfume  from  be- 
low a  depth  of  waters  which  he  had  never  penetrated,  and 
out  of  ooze  and  mould  which  he  could  not  understand.  He 
drew  near  because  it  was  waxen  and  fresh.  It  lightened 
his  feelings  for  him.     It  made  the  morning  worth  while. 

In  a  material  way,  she  was  considerably  improved. 
Her  awkwardness  had  all  but  passed,  leaving,  if  anything, 
a  quaint  residue  which  was  as  pleasing  as  perfect  grace. 
Her  little  shoes  now  fitted  her  smartly  and  had  high  heels. 
She  had  learned  much  about  laces  and  those  little  neck- 
pieces which  add  so  much  to  a  woman's  appearance.  Her 
form  had  filled  out  until  it  was  admirably  plump  and  well- 
rounded. 

Hurstwood  wrote  her  one  morning,  asking  her  to  meet 
him  in  Jefferson  Park,  Monroe  Street.  He  did  not  con- 
sider it  policy  to  call  any  more,  even  when  Drouet  was  at 
home. 

The  next  afternoon  he  was  in  the  pretty  little  park  by 
one,  and  had  found  a  rustic  bench  beneath  the  green 
leaves  of  a  lilac  bush  which  bordered  one  of  the  paths.  It 
was  at  that  season  of  the  year  when  the  fulness  of  spring 
had  not  yet  worn  quite  away.  At  a  little  pond  near  by 
some  cleanly  dressed  children  were  sailing  white  canvas 
boats.  In  the  shade  of  a  green  pagoda  a  bebuttoned 
officer  of  the  law  was  resting,  his  arms  folded,  his  club  at 
rest  in  his  belt.  An  old  gardener  was  upon  the  lawn, 
with  a  pair  of  pruning  shears,  looking  after  some  bushes. 
High  overhead  was  the  clear  blue  sky  of  the  new  summer, 
and  in  the  thickness  of  the  shiny  green  leaves  of  the  trees 
hopped  and  twittered  the  busy  sparrows. 

Hurstwood  had  come  out  of  his  own  home  that  morn- 
ing feeling  much  of  the  same  old  annoyance.  At  his 
store  he  had  idled,  there  being  no  need  to  write.  He  had 
11 


162  SISTER   CARRIE 

come  away  to  this  place  with  the  lightness  of  heart  which 
characterises  those  who  put  weariness  behind.  Now,  in 
the  shade  of  this  cool,  green  bush,  he  looked  about  him 
with  the  fancy  of  the  lover.  He  heard  the  carts  go  lum- 
bering by  upon  the  neighbouring  streets,  but  they  were 
far  off,  and  only  buzzed  upon  his  ear.  The  hum  of  the 
surrounding  city  was  faint,  the  clang  of  an  occasional  bell 
was  as  music.  He  looked  and  dreamed  a  new  dream  of 
pleasure  which  concerned  his  present  fixed  condition  not 
at  all.  He  got  back  in  fancy  to  the  old  Hurstwood,  who 
was  neither  married  nor  fixed  in  a  solid  position  for  life. 
He  remembered  the  light  spirit  in  which  he  once  looked 
after  the  girls — how  he  had  danced,  escorted  them  home, 
hung  over  their  gates.  He  almost  wished  he  was  back 
there  again — here  in  this  pleasant  scene  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  wholly  free. 

At  two  Carrie  came  tripping  along  the  walk  toward 
him,  rosy  and  clean.  She  had  just  recently  donned  a 
sailor  hat  for  the  season  with  a  band  of  pretty  white-dotted 
blue  silk.  Her  skirt  was  of  a  rich  blue  material,  and  her 
shirt  waist  matched  it,  with  a  thin  stripe  of  blue  upon  a 
snow-white  ground — stripes  that  were  as  fine  as  hairs. 
Her  brown  shoes  peeped  occasionally  from  beneath  her 
skirt.     She  carried  her  gloves  in  her  hand. 

Hurstwood  looked  up  at  her  with  delight. 

"  You  came,  dearest,"  he  said  eagerly,  standing  to  meet 
her  and  taking  her  hand. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  smiling;  "  did  you  think  I 
wouldn't?  " 

"  I  didn't  know,"  he  replied. 

He  looked  at  her  forehead,  which  was  moist  from  her 
brisk  walk.  Then  he  took  out  one  of  his  own  soft, 
scented  silk  handkerchiefs  and  touched  her  face  here  and 
there. 

"  'Now,"  he  said  affectionately,  "  you're  all  right." 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 63 

They  were  happy  in  being  near  one  another — in  look- 
ing into  each  other's  eyes.  Finally,  when  the  long  flush 
of  delight  had  subsided,  he  said: 

"  When  is  Charlie  going  away  again?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  He  says  he  has  some 
things  to  do  for  the  house  here  now." 

Hurstwood  grew  serious,  and  he  lapsed  into  quiet 
thought.     He  looked  up  after  a  time  to  say: 

"  Come  away  and  leave  him." 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  boys  with  the  boats,  as  if  the 
request  were  of  little  importance. 

"  Where  would  we  go?  "  she  asked  in  much  the  same 
manner,  rolling  her  gloves,  and  looking  into  a  neighbour- 
ing tree. 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  "  he  enquired. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  in  which  he  said  this 
which  made  her  feel  as  if  she  must  record  her  feelings 
against  any  local  habitation. 

"  We  can't  stay  in  Chicago,"  she  replied. 

He  had  no  thought  that  this  was  in  her  mind — that  any 
removal  would  be  suggested. 

"  Why  not?  "  he  asked  softly. 

"  Oh,  because,"  she  said,  "  I  wouldn't  want  to." 

He  listened  to  this  with  but  dull  perception  of  what  it 
meant.  It  had  no  serious  ring  to  it.  The  question  was 
not  up  for  immediate  decision. 

"  I  would  have  to  give  up  my  position,"  he  said. 

The  tone  he  used  made  it  seem  as  if  the  matter  deserved 
only  slight  consideration.  Carrie  thought  a  little,  the 
while  enjoying  the  pretty  scene. 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  live  in  Chicago  and  him  here,"  she 
said,  thinking  of  Drouet. 

"  It's  a  big  town,  dearest,"  Hurstwood  answered.  "  It 
would  be  as  good  as  moving  to  another  part  of  the  country 
to  move  to  the  South  Side," 


1 64  SISTER  CARRIE 

He  had  fixed  upon  that  region  as  an  objective  point. 

"  Anyhow,"  said  Carrie,  "  I  shouldn't  want  to  get  mar- 
ried as  long  as  he  is  here.     I  wouldn't  want  to  run  away." 

The  suggestion  of  marriage  struck  Hurstwood  forcibly. 
He  saw  clearly  that  this  was  her  idea — he  felt  that  it  was 
not  to  be  gotten  over  easily.  Bigamy  lightened  the  hori- 
zon of  his  shadowy  thoughts  for  a  moment.  He  won- 
dered for  the  life  of  him  how  it  would  all  come  out.  He 
could  not  see  that  he  was  making  any  progress  save  in 
her  regard.  When  he  looked  at  her  now,  he  thought  her 
beautiful.  What  a  thing  it  was  to  have  her  love  him,  even 
if  it  be  entangling !  She  increased  in  value  in  his  eyes 
because  of  her  objection.  She  was  something  to  struggle 
for,  and  that  was  everything.  How  different  from  the 
women  who  yielded  willingly!  He  swept  the  thought  of 
them  from  his  mind. 

"  And  you  don't  know  when  he'll  go  away?  "  asked 
Hurstwood,  quietly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

He  sighed. 

"  You're  a  determined  little  miss,  aren't  you?  "  he  said, 
after  a  few  moments,  looking  up  into  her  eyes. 

She  felt  a  wave  of  feeling  sweep  over  her  at  this.  It  was 
pride  at  what  seemed  his  admiration — affection  for  the 
man  who  could  feel  this  concerning  her. 

"  No,"  she  said  coyly,  "  but  what  can  I  do?  " 

Again  he  folded  his  hands  and  looked  away  over  the 
lawn  into  the  street. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said  pathetically,  "  you  would  come  to  me. 
I  don't  like  to  be  away  from  you  this  way.  What  good 
is  there  in  waiting?  You're  not  any  happier,  are 
you?" 

"Happier!"  she  exclaimed  softly,  "you  know  better 
than  that." 

"  Here  we  are  then,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  tone, 


SISTER  CARRIE  165 

"  wasting  our  days.  If  you  are  not  happy,  do  you  think 
I  am?  I  sit  and  write  to  you  the  biggest  part  of  the  time. 
I'll  tell  you  what,  Carrie,"  he  exclaimed,  throwing  sudden 
force  of  expression  into  his  voice  and  fixing  her  with  his 
eyes,  "  I  can't  live  without  you,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
Now,"  he  concluded,  showing  the  palm  of  one  of  his  white 
hands  in  a  sort  of  at-an-end,  helpless  expression,  "  what 
shall  I  do?" 

This  shifting  of  the  burden  to  her  appealed  to  Carrie. 
The  semblance  of  the  load  without  the  weight  touched 
the  woman's  heart. 

"  Can't  you  wait  a  little  while  yet?  "  she  said  tenderly. 
"  I'll  try  and  find  out  when  he's  going." 

"What  good  will  it  do?"  he  asked,  holding  the  same 
strain  of  feeling. 

"  Well,  perhaps  we  can  arrange  to  go  somewhere." 

She  really  did  not  see  anything  clearer  than  before,  but 
she  was  getting  into  that  frame  of  mind  where,  out  of  sym- 
pathy, a  woman  yields. 

Hurstwood  did  not  understand.  He  was  wondering 
how  she  was  to  be  persuaded — what  appeal  would  move 
her  to  forsake  Drouet.  He  began  to  wonder  how  far  her 
affection  for  him  would  carry  her.  He  was  thinking  of 
some  question  which  would  make  her  tell. 

Finally  he  hit  upon  one  of  those  problematical  propo- 
sitions which  often  disguise  our  own  desires  while  lead- 
ing us  to  an  understanding  of  the  difficulties  which  others 
make  for  us,  and  so  discover  for  us  a  way.  It  had  not  the 
slightest  connection  with  anything  intended  on  his  part, 
and  was  spoken  at  random  before  he  had  given  it  a  mo- 
ment's serious  thought. 

"  Carrie,"  he  said,  looking  into  her  face  and  assuming 
a  serious  look  which  he  did  not  feel,  "  suppose  I  were  to 
come  to  you  next  week,  or  this  week  for  that  matter — to- 
night say — and  tell  you  I  had  to  go  away — that  I  couldn't 


1 66  SISTER  CARRIE 

stay  another  minute  and  wasn't  coming  back  any  more — 
would  you  come  with  me?  " 

His  sweetheart  viewed  him  with  the  most  affectionate 
glance,  her  answer  ready  before  the  words  were  out  of 
his  mouth. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  You  wouldn't  stop  to  argue  or  arrange?  " 

"  Not  if  you  couldn't  wait." 

He  smiled  when  he  saw  that  she  took  him  seriously, 
and  he  thought  what  a  chance  it  would  afford  for  a  pos- 
sible junket  of  a  week  or  two.  He  had  a  notion  to  tell 
her  that  he  was  joking  and  so  brush  away  her  sweet  seri- 
ousness, but  the  effect  of  it  was  too  delightful.  He  let  it 
stand. 

"  Suppose  we  didn't  have  time  to  get  married  here?  "  he 
added,  an  afterthought  striking  him. 

"  If  we  got  married  as  soon  as  we  got  to  the  other  end 
of  the  journey  it  would  be  all  right." 

"  I  meant  that,"  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

The  morning  seemed  peculiarly  bright  to  him  now. 
He  wondered  whatever  could  have  put  such  a  thought 
into  his  head.  Impossible  as  it  was,  he  could  not  help 
smiling  at  its  cleverness.  It  showed  how  she  loved  him. 
There  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  now,  and  he  would  find 
a  way  to  win  her. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  jokingly,  "  I'll  come  and  get  you  one 
of  these  evenings,"  and  then  he  laughed. 

"  I  wouldn't  stay  with  you,  though,  if  you  didn't  marry 
me,"  Carrie  added  reflectively. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to,"  he  said  tenderly,  taking  her 
hand. 

She  was  extremely  happy  now  that  she  understood. 
She  loved  him  the  more  for  thinking  that  he  would  rescue 
her  so.     As  for  him,  the  marriage  clause  did  not  dwell  in 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 67 

his  mind.  He  was  thinking  that  with  such  affection  there 
could  be  no  bar  to  his  eventual  happiness. 

"  Let's  stroll  about,"  he  said  gayly,  rising  and  surveying 
all  the  lovely  park. 

"  All  right,"  said  Carrie. 

They  passed  the  young  Irishman,  who  looked  after 
them  with  envious  eyes. 

"  "Tis  a  foine  couple,"  he  observed  to  himself.  "  They 
must  be  rich." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

A  WITLESS  ALADDIN:  THE  GATE  TO  THE  WORLD 

In  the  course  of  his  present  stay  in  Chicago,  Drouet  paid 
some  slight  attention  to  the  secret  order  to  which  he  be- 
longed. During  his  last  trip  he  had  received  a  new  light 
on  its  importance. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  another  drummer  to  him,  "  it's  a  great 
thing.  Look  at  Hazenstab.  He  isn't  so  deuced  clever. 
Of  course  he's  got  a  good  house  behind  him,  but  that 
won't  do  alone.  I  tell  you  it's  his  degree.  He's  a  way-up 
Mason,  and  that  goes  a  long  way.  He's  got  a  secret  sign 
that  stands  for  something." 

Drouet  resolved  then  and  there  that  he  would  take 
more  interest  in  such  matters.  So  when  he  got  back  to 
Chicago  he  repaired  to  his  local  lodge  headquarters. 

"  I  say,  Drouet,"  said  Mr.  Harry  Quincel,  an  individual 
who  was  very  prominent  in  this  local  branch  of  the  Elks, 
"  you're  the  man  that  can  help  us  out." 

It  was  after  the  business  meeting  and  things  were  going 
socially  with  a  hum.  Drouet  was  bobbing  around  chat- 
ting and  joking  with  a  score  of  individuals  whom  he  knew. 

"  What  are  you  up  to?"  he  inquired  genially,  turning 
a  smiling  face  upon  his  secret  brother. 

"  We're  trying  to  get  up  some  theatricals  for  two  weeks 
from  to-day,  and  we  want  to  know  if  you  don't  know  some 
young  lady  who  could  take  a  part — it's  an  easy  part." 

"  Sure,"  said  Drouet,  "  what  is  it?  "  He  did  not  trouble 
to  remember  that  he  knew  no  one  to  whom  he  could 


SISTER  CARRIE  169 

appeal  on  this  score.  His  innate  good-nature,  however, 
dictated  a  favourable  reply. 

"  Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you  what  we  are  trying  to  do," 
went  on  Mr.  Quincel.  "  We  are  trying  to  get  a  new  set 
of  furniture  for  the  lodge.  There  isn't  enough  money  in 
the  treasury  at  the  present  time,  and  we  thought  we  would 
raise  it  by  a  little  entertainment." 

"  Sure,"  interrupted  Drouet,  "  that's  a  good  idea." 

"  Several  of  the  boys  around  here  have  got  talent. 
There's  Harry  Burbeck,  he  does  a  fine  black-face  turn. 
Mac  Lewis  is  all  right  at  heavy  dramatics.  Did  you  ever 
hear  him  recite  '  Over  the  Hills  '  ?  " 

"  Never  did." 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,  he  does  it  fine." 

"  And  you  want  me  to  get  some  woman  to  take  a  part?  " 
questioned  Drouet,  anxious  to  terminate  the  subject  and 
get  on  to  something  else.  "  What  are  you  going  to 
play?" 

"  '  Under  the  Gaslight,'  "  said  Mr.  Quincel,  mentioning 
Augustin  Daly's  famous  production,  which  had  worn 
from  a  great  public  success  down  to  an  amateur  theatrical 
favourite,  with  many  of  the  troublesome  accessories  cut 
out  and  the  dramatis  persona  reduced  to  the  smallest  pos- 
sible number. 

Drouet  had  seen  this  play  some  time  in  the  past. 

"  That's  it,"  he  said;  "  that's  a  fine  play.  It  will  go  all 
right.     You  ought  to  make  a  lot  of  money  out  of  that." 

"  We  think  we'll  do  very  well,"  Mr.  Quincel  replied. 
"  Don't  you  forget  now,"  he  concluded,  Drouet  showing 
signs  of  restlessness ;  "  some  young  woman  to  take  the 
part  of  Laura." 

"  Sure,  I'll  attend  to  it." 

He  moved  away,  forgetting  almost  all  about  it  the  mo- 
ment Mr.  Quincel  had  ceased  talking.  He  had  not  even 
thought  to  ask  the  time  or  place. 


170  SISTER  CARRIE 

Drouet  was  reminded  of  his  promise  a  day  or  two  later 
by  the  receipt  of  a  letter  announcing  that  the  first  rehear- 
sal was  set  for  the  following  Friday  evening,  and  urging 
him  to  kindly  forward  the  young  lady's  address  at  once,  in 
order  that  the  part  might  be  delivered  to  her. 

"  Now,  who  the  deuce  do  I  know?  "  asked  the  drum- 
mer reflectively,  scratching  his  rosy  ear.  "  I  don't 
know  any  one  that  knows  anything  about  amateur 
theatricals." 

He  went  over  in  memory  the  names  of  a  number  of 
women  he  knew,  and  finally  fixed  on  one,  largely  because 
of  the  convenient  location  of  her  home  on  the  West  Side, 
and  promised  himself  that  as  he  came  out  that  evening  he 
would  see  her.  When,  however,  he  started  west  on  the 
car  he  forgot,  and  was  only  reminded  of  his  delinquency 
by  an  item  in  the  "  Evening  News  " — a  small  three-line 
affair  under  the  head  of  Secret  Society  Notes — which 
stated  the  Custer  Lodge  of  the  Order  of  Elks  would  give 
a  theatrical  performance  in  Avery  Hall  on  the  16th,  when 
"  Under  the  Gaslight  "  would  be  produced. 

"  George !  "  exclaimed  Drouet,  "  I  forgot  that." 

"  What?  "  inquired  Carrie. 

They  were  at  their  little  table  in  the  room  which  might 
have  been  used  for  a  kitchen,  where  Carrie  occasionally 
served  a  meal.  To-night  the  fancy  had  caught  her,  and 
the  little  table  was  spread  with  a  pleasing  repast. 

"  Why,  my  lodge  entertainment.  They're  going  to  give 
a  play,  and  they  wanted  me  to  get  them  some  young  lady 
to  take  a  part." 

"  What  is  it  they're  going  to  play?  " 

"  '  Under  the  Gaslight.' " 

"When?" 

"  On  the  16th." 

"Well,  why  don't  you?"  asked  Carrie. 

"  I  don't  know  any  one,"  he  replied. 


SISTER  CARRIE  171 

Suddenly  he  looked  up. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  "  how  would  you  like  to  take  the  part?  " 

"  Me?  "  said  Carrie.     "  I  can't  act." 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  questioned  Drouet  reflectively. 

"  Because,"  answered  Carrie,  "  I  never  did." 

Nevertheless,  she  was  pleased  to  think  he  would  ask. 
Her  eyes  brightened,  for  if  there  was  anything  that  en- 
listed her  sympathies  it  was  the  art  of  the  stage. 

True  to  his  nature,  Drouet  clung  to  this  idea  as  an  easy 
way  out. 

"  That's  nothing.  You  can  act  all  you  have  to  down 
there." 

"  No,  I  can't,"  said  Carrie  weakly,  very  much  drawn 
toward  the  proposition  and  yet  fearful. 

"  Yes,  you  can.  Now,  why  don't  you  do  it?  They 
need  some  one,  and  it  will  be  lots  of  fun  for  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  won't,"  said  Carrie  seriously. 

"  You'd  like  that.  I  know  you  would.  I've  seen  you 
dancing  around  here  and  giving  imitations  and  that's  why 
I  asked  you.     You're  clever  enough,  all  right." 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  Carrie  shyly. 

"Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do.  You  go  down  and 
see  about  it.  It'll  be  fun  for  you.  The  rest  of  the  com- 
pany isn't  going  to  be  any  good.  They  haven't  any  ex- 
perience.    What  do  they  know  about  theatricals?  " 

He  frowned  as  he  thought  of  their  ignorance. 

"  Hand  me  the  coffee,"  he  added. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  could  act,  Charlie,"  Carrie  went  on 
pettishly.     "  You  don't  think  I  could,  do  you?" 

"  Sure.  Out  o'  sight.  I  bet  you  make  a  hit.  Now 
you  want  to  go,  I  know  you  do.  I  knew  it  when  I  came 
home.     That's  why  I  asked  you." 

"  What  is  the  play,  did  you  say?  " 

"  '  Under  the  Gaslight.'  " 

"  What  part  would  they  want  me  to  take?  " 


i;2  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Oh,  one  of  the  heroines — I  don't  know." 

"  What  sort  of  a  play  is  it?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Drouet,  whose  memory  for  such  things 
was  not  the  best,  "  it's  about  a  girl  who  gets  kidnapped 
by  a  couple  of  crooks — a  man  and  a  woman  that  live  in 
the  slums.  She  had  some  money  or  something  and  they 
wanted  to  get  it.  I  don't  know  now  how  it  did  go 
exactly." 

"  Don't  you  know  what  part  I  would  have  to  take?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,  to  tell  the  truth."  He  thought  a  mo- 
ment. "  Yes,  I  do,  too.  Laura,  that's  the  thing — you're 
to  be  Laura." 

"  And  you  can't  remember  what  the  part  is  like?  " 

"  To  save  me,  Cad,  I  can't,"  he  answered.  "  I  ought 
to,  too;  I've  seen  the  play  enough.  There's  a  girl  in  it 
that  was  stolen  when  she  was  an  infant — was  picked  off 
the  street  or  something — and  she's  the  one  that's  hounded 
by  the  two  old  criminals  I  was  telling  you  about."  He 
stopped  with  a  mouthful  of  pie  poised  on  a  fork  before 
his  face.  "  She  comes  very  near  getting  drowned — no, 
that's  not  it.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  he  concluded 
hopelessly,  "  I'll  get  you  the  book.  I  can't  remember 
now  for  the  life  of  me." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie,  when  he  had  con- 
cluded, her  interest  and  desire  to  shine  dramatically  strug- 
gling with  her  timidity  for  the  mastery.  "  I  might  go  if 
you  thought  I'd  do  all  right." 

"  Of  course,  you'll  do,"  said  Drouet,  who,  in  his  efforts 
to  enthuse  Carrie,  had  interested  himself.  "  Do  you  think 
I'd  come  home  here  and  urge  you  to  do  something  that  I 
didn't  think  you  would  make  a  success  of?  You  can  act 
all  right.     It'll  be  good  for  you." 

"  When  must  I  go?  "  said  Carrie,  reflectively. 

"  The  first  rehearsal  is  Friday  night.  I'll  get  the  part 
for  you  to-night." 


SISTER   CARRIE  1 73 

"  All  right,"  said  Carrie  resignedly,  "  I'll  do  it,  but  if  I 
make  a  failure  now  it's  your  fault." 

"  You  won't  fail,"  assured  Drouet.  "  Just  act  as  you 
do  around  here.  Be  natural.  You're  all  right.  I've 
often  thought  you'd  make  a  corking  good  actress." 

"  Did  you  really?  "  asked  Carrie. 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  drummer. 

He  little  knew  as  he  went  out  of  the  door  that  night 
what  a  secret  flame  he  had  kindled  in  the  bosom  of  the 
girl  he  left  behind.  Carrie  was  possessed  of  that  sympa- 
thetic, impressionable  nature  which,  ever  in  the  most 
developed  form,  has  been  the  glory  of  the  drama.  She 
was  created  with  that  passivity  of  soul  which  is  always  the 
mirror  of  the  active  world.  She  possessed  an  innate  taste 
for  imitation  and  no  small  ability.  Even  without  practice, 
she  could  sometimes  restore  dramatic  situations  she  had 
witnessed  by  re-creating,  before  her  mirror,  the  expres- 
sions of  the  various  faces  taking  part  in  the  scene.  She 
loved  to  modulate  her  voice  after  the  conventional  man- 
ner of  the  distressed  heroine,  and  repeat  such  pathetic 
fragments  as  appealed  most  to  her  sympathies.  Of  late, 
seeing  the  airy  grace  of  the  ingenue  in  several  well-con- 
structed plays,  she  had  been  moved  to  secretly  imitate  it, 
and  many  were  the  little  movements  and  expressions  of 
the  body  in  which  she  indulged  from  time  to  time  in  the 
privacy  of  her  chamber.  On  several  occasions,  when 
Drouet  had  caught  her  admiring  herself,  as  he  imagined, 
in  the  mirror,  she  was  doing  nothing  more  than  recalling 
some  little  grace  of  the  mouth  or  the  eyes  which  she  had 
witnessed  in  another.  Under  his  airy  accusation  she  mis- 
took this  for  vanity  and  accepted  the  blame  with  a  faint 
sense  of  error,  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  nothing 
more  than  the  first  subtle  outcroppings  of  an  artistic  na- 
ture, endeavouring  to  re-create  the  perfect  likeness  of 
some  phase  of  beauty  which  appealed  to  her.     In  such 


174  SISTER  CARRIE 

feeble  tendencies,  be  it  known,  such  outworking  of  desire 
to  reproduce  life,  lies  the  basis  of  all  dramatic  art. 

Now,  when  Carrie  heard  Drouet's  laudatory  opinion  of 
her  dramatic  ability,  her  body  tingled  with  satisfaction. 
Like  the  flame  which  welds  the  loosened  particles  into  a 
solid  mass,  his  words  united  those  floating  wisps  of  feel- 
ing which  she  had  felt,  but  never  believed,  concerning  her 
possible  ability,  and  made  them  into  a  gaudy  shred  of 
hope.  Like  all  human  beings,  she  had  a  touch  of  vanity. 
She  felt  that  she  could  do  things  if  she  only  had  a  chance. 
How  often  had  she  looked  at  the  well-dressed  actresses 
on  the  stage  and  wondered  how  she  would  look,  how  de- 
lightful she  would  feel  if  only  she  were  in  their  place. 
The  glamour,  the  tense  situation,  the  fine  clothes,  the  ap- 
plause, these  had  lured  her  until  she  felt  that  s'he,  too, 
could  act — that  she,  too,  could  compel  acknowledgment 
of  power.  Now  she  was  told  that  she  really  could — that 
little  things  she  had  done  about  the  house  had  made  even 
him  feel  her  power.  It  was  a  delightful  sensation  while 
it  lasted. 

When  Drouet  was  gone,  she  sat  down  in  her  rocking- 
chair  by  the  window  to  think  about  it.  As  usual,  imagi- 
nation exaggerated  the  possibilities  for  her.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  put  fifty  cents  in  her  hand  and  she  had  exercised 
the  thoughts  of  a  thousand  dollars.  She  saw  herself  in  a 
score  of  pathetic  situations  in  which  she  assumed  a  tremu- 
lous voice  and  suffering  manner.  Her  mind  delighted  it- 
self with  scenes  of  luxury  and  refinement,  situations  in 
which  she  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  the  arbiter  of  all 
fates.  As  she  rocked  to  and  fro  she  felt  the  tensity  of  woe 
in  abandonment,  the  magnificence  of  wrath  after  decep- 
tion, the  languour  of  sorrow  after  defeat.  Thoughts  of  all 
the  charming  women  she  had  seen  in  plays — every  fancy, 
every  illusion  which  she  had  concerning  the  stage — now 
came  back  as  a  returning  tide  after  the  ebb.    She  built 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 75 

up  feelings  and  a  determination  which  the  occasion  did 
not  warrant. 

Drouet  dropped  in  at  the  lodge  when  he  went  down 
town,  and  swashed  around  with  a  great  air,  as  Quincel 
met  him. 

"  Where  is  that  young  lady  you  were  going  to  get  for 
us?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  I've  got  her,"  said  Drouet. 

"  Have  you?  "  said  Quincel,  rather  surprised  by  his 
promptness;  "  that's  good.  What's  her  address?  "  and  he 
pulled  out  his  note-book  in  order  to  be  able  to  send  her 
part  to  her. 

"  You  want  to  send  her  her  part?  "  asked  the  drummer. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I'll  take  it.  I'm  going  right  by  her  house  in 
the  morning." 

"  What  did  you  say  her  address  was?  We  only  want  it 
in  case  we  have  any  information  to  send  her." 

"  Twenty-nine  Ogden  Place." 

"  And  her  name?  " 

"  Carrie  Madenda,"  said  the  drummer,  firing  at 
random.  The  lodge  members  knew  him  to  be 
single. 

"  That  sounds  like  somebody  that  can  act,  doesn't  it?  " 
said  Quincel. 

"  Yes,  it  does." 

He  took  the  part  home  to  Carrie  and  handed  it  to  her 
with  the  manner  of  one  who  does  a  favour. 

"  He  says  that's  the  best  part'.  Do  you  think  you  can 
doit?"  : 

"  I  don't  know  until  I  look  it  over.  You  know  I'm 
afraid,  now  that  I've  said  I  would." 

"  Oh,  go  on.  What  have  you  got  to  be  afraid  of?  It's 
a  cheap  company.  The  rest  of  them  aren't  as  good  as 
you  are." 


176  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Well,  I'll  see,"  said  Carrie,  pleased  to  have  the  part, 
for  all  her  misgivings. 

He  sidled  around,  dressing  and  fidgeting  before  he  ar- 
ranged to  make  his  next  remark. 

"  They  were  getting  ready  to  print  the  programmes,"' 
he  said,  "  and  I  gave  them  the  name  of  Carrie  Madenda. 
Was  that  all  right?  " 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so,"  said  his  companion,  looking  up  at 
him.     She  was  thinking  it  was  slightly  strange. 

"  If  you  didn't  make  a  hit,  you  know,"  he  went  on. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  rather  pleased  now  with  his 
caution.     It  was  clever  for  Drouet. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  introduce  you  as  my  wife,  because 
you'd  feel  worse  then  if  you  didn't  go.  They  all  know 
me  so  well.  But  you'll  go  all  right.  Anyhow,  you'll 
probably  never  meet  any  of  them  again." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care,"  said  Carrie  desperately.  She  was 
determined  now  to  have  a  try  at  the  fascinating  game. 

Drouet  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  had  been  afraid 
that  he  was  about  to  precipitate  another  conversation 
upon  the  marriage  question. 

The  part  of  Laura,  as  Carrie  found  out  when  she  be- 
gan to  examine  it,  was  one  of  suffering  and  tears.  As 
delineated  by  Mr.  Daly,  it  was  true  to  the  most  sacred 
traditions  of  melodrama  as  he  found  it  when  he  began  his 
career.  The  sorrowful  demeanour,  the  tremolo  music, 
the  long,  explanatory,  cumulative  addresses,  all  were 
there. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  read  Carrie,  consulting  the  text  and 
drawing  her  voice  out  pathetically.  "  Martin,  be  sure 
and  give  him  a  glass  of  wine  before  he  goes." 

She  was  surprised  at  the  briefness  of  the  entire  part, 
not  knowing  that  she  must  be  on  the  stage  while  others 
were  talking,  and  not  only  be  there,  but  also  keep  herself 
in  harmony  with  the  dramatic  movement  of  the  scenes. 


SISTER  CARRIE  177 

"  I  think  I  can  do  that,  though,"  she  concluded. 

When  Drouet  came  the  next  night,  she  was  very  much 
satisfied  with  her  day's  study. 

"  Well,  how  goes  it,  Caddie?  "  he  said. 

"  All  right,"  she  laughed.  "  I  think  I  have  it  memo- 
rised nearly." 

"  That's  good,"  he  said.     "  Let's  hear  some  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  get  up  and  say  it  off 
here,"  she  said  bashfully. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  why  you  shouldn't.  It'll  be  easier 
here  than  it  will  there." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  she  answered. 

Eventually  she  took  off  the  ball-room  episode  with 
considerable  feeling,  forgetting,  as  she  got  deeper  in  the 
scene,  all  about  Drouet,  and  letting  herself  rise  to  a  fine 
state  of  feeling. 

"Good,"  said  Drouet;  "fine;  out  o'  sight!  You're  all 
right,  Caddie,  I  tell  you." 

He  was  really  moved  by  her  excellent  representation 
and  the  general  appearance  of  the  pathetic  little  figure  as 
it  swayed  and  finally  fainted  to  the  floor.  He  had 
bounded  up  to  catch  her,  and  now  held  her  laughing  in 
his  arms. 

"  Ain't  you  afraid  you'll  hurt  yourself?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  Well,  you're  a  wonder.  Say,  I  never  knew  you  could 
do  anything  like  that." 

"  I  never  did,  either,"  said  Carrie  merrily,  her  face 
flushed  with  delight. 

"  Well,  you  can  bet  that  you're  all  right,"  said  Drouet. 
"  You  can  take  mv  word  for  that.     You  won't  fail." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A   GLIMPSE   THROUGH    THE   GATEWAY:    HOPE    LIGHTENS 
THE   EYE 

The,  to  Carrie,  very  important  theatrical  performance 
was  to  take  place  at  the  Avery  on  conditions  which 
were  to  make  it  more  noteworthy  than  was  at  first  an- 
ticipated. The  little  dramatic  student  had  written  to 
Hurstwood  the  very  morning  her  part  was  brought  her 
that  she  was  going  to  take  part  in  a  play. 

"  I  really  am,"  she  wrote,  feeling  that  he  might  take  it 
as  a  jest;  "  I  have  my  part  now,  honest,  truly." 

Hurstwood  smiled  in  an  indulgent  way  as  he  read  this. 

"  I  wonder  what  it  is  going  to  be?     I  must  see  that." 

He  answered  at  once,  making  a  pleasant  reference  to 
her  ability.  "  I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  you  will  make 
a  success.  You  must  come  to  the  park  to-morrow  morn- 
ing and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Carrie  gladly  complied,  and  revealed  all  the  details  of 
the  undertaking  as  she  understood  it. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  that's  fine.  I'm  glad  to  hear  it. 
Of  course,  you  will  do  well,  you're  so  clever." 

He  had  truly  never  seen  so  much  spirit  in  the  girl  be- 
fore. Her  tendency  to  discover  a  touch  of  sadness  had 
for  the  nonce  disappeared.  As  she  spoke  her  eyes  were 
bright,  her  cheeks  red.  She  radiated  much  of  the  pleasure 
which  her  undertakings  gave  her.  For  all  her  misgivings 
— and  they  were  as  plentiful  as  the  moments  of  the  day — 
she  was. still  happy.     She  could  not  repress  her  delight  in 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 79 

doing  this  little  thing  which,  to  an  ordinary  observer,  had 
no  importance  at  all. 

Hurstwood  was  charmed  by  the  development  of  the  fact 
that  the  girl  had  capabilities.  There  is  nothing  so  inspir- 
ing in  life  as  the  sight  of  a  legitimate  ambition,  no  matter 
how  incipient.  It  gives  colour,  force,  and  beauty  to  the 
possessor. 

Carrie  was  now  lightened  by  a  touch  of  this  divine  af- 
flatus. She  drew  to  herself  commendation  from  her  two 
admirers  which  she  had  not  earned.  Their  affection  for 
her  naturally  heightened  their  perception  of  what  she  was 
trying  to  do  and  their  approval  of  what  she  did.  Her  in- 
experience conserved  her  own  exuberant  fancy,  which 
ran  riot  with  every  straw  of  opportunity,  making  of  it  a 
golden  divining  rod  whereby  the  treasure  of  life  was  to 
be  discovered. 

"  Let's  see,"  said  Hurstwood,  "  I  ought  to  know  some 
of  the  boys  in  the  lodge.     I'm  an  Elk  myself." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  let  him  know  I  told  you." 

"  That's  so,"  said  the  manager. 

"  I'd  like  for  you  to  be  there,  if  you  want  to  come,  but 
I  don't  see  how  you  can  unless  he  asks  you." 

"  I'll  be  there,"  said  Hurstwood  affectionately.  "  I  can 
fix  it  so  he  won't  know  you  told  me.  You  leave  it  to 
me. 

This  interest  of  the  manager  was  a  large  thing  in  itself 
for  the  performance,  for  his  standing  among  the  Elks  was 
something  worth  talking  about.  Already  he  was  think- 
ing of  a  box  with  some  friends,  and  flowers  for  Carrie. 
He  would  make  it  a  dress-suit  affair  and  give  the  little 
girl  a  chance. 

Within  a  day  or  two,  Drouet  dropped  into  the  Adams 
Street  resort,  and  he  was  at  once  spied  by  Hurstwood.  It 
was  at  five  in  the  afternoon  and  the  place  was  crowded 
with  merchants,  actors,  managers,  politicians,  a  goodly 


180  SISTER  CARRIE 

company  of  rotund,  rosy  figures,  silk-hatted,  starchy- 
bosomed,  beringed  and  bescarfpinned  to  the  queen's 
taste.  John  L.  Sullivan,  the  pugilist,  was  at  one  end  of 
the  glittering  bar,  surrounded  by  a  company  of  loudly 
dressed  sports,  who  were  holding  a  most  animated  con- 
versation. Drouet  came  across  the  floor  with  a  festive 
stride,  a  new  pair  of  tan  shoes  squeaking  audibly  at  his 
progress. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Hurstwood,  "  I  was  wondering  what 
had  become  of  you.  I  thought  you  had  gone  out  of  town 
again." 

Drouet  laughed. 

"  If  you  don't  report  more  regularly  we'll  have  to  cut 
you  off  the  list." 

"Couldn't  help  it,"  said  the  drummer,  "  I've  been 
busy." 

They  strolled  over  toward  the  bar  amid  the  noisy,  shift- 
ing company  of  notables.  The  dressy  manager  was 
shaken  by  the  hand  three  times  in  as  many  minutes. 

"  I  hear  your  lodge  is  going  to  give  a  performance," 
observed  Hurstwood,  in  the  most  offhand  manner. 

"Yes,  who  told  you?" 

"  No  one,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  They  just  sent  me  a 
couple  of  tickets,  which  I  can  have  for  two  dollars.  Is  it 
going  to  be  any  good?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  drummer.  "  They've  been 
trying  to  get  me  to  get  some  woman  to  take  a  part." 

"  I  wasn't  intending  to  go,"  said  the  manager  easily. 
"  I'll  subscribe,  of  course.     How  are  things  over  there?  " 

"  All  right.  They're  going  to  fit  things  up  out  of  the 
proceeds." 

"  Well,"  said  the  manager,  "  I  hope  they  make  a  suc- 
cess of  it.     Have  another?  " 

He  did  not  intend  to  say  any  more.  Now,  if  he  should 
appear  on  the  scene  with  a  few  friends,  he  could  say  that 


SISTER  CARRIE  181 

he  had  been  urged  to  come  along.  Drouet  had  a  desire  to 
wipe  out  the  possibility  of  confusion. 

"  I  think  the  girl  is  going  to  take  a  part  in  it,"  he  said 
abruptly,  after  thinking  it  over. 

"  You  don't  say  so!     How  did  that  happen?  " 

"  Well,  they  were  short  and  wanted  me  to  find  them 
some  one.  I  told  Carrie,  and  she  seems  to  want  to 
try." 

"  Good  for  her,"  said  the  manager.  "  It'll  be  a  real 
nice  affair.  Do  her  good,  too.  Has  she  ever  had  any 
experience?  " 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  Oh,  well,  it  isn't  anything  very  serious." 

"  She's  clever,  though,"  said  Drouet,  casting  off  any 
imputation  against  Carrie's  ability.  "  She  picks  up  her 
part  quick  enough." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  "  said  the  manager. 

"Yes,  sir;  she  surprised  me  the  other  night.  By 
George,  if  she  didn't." 

"  We  must  give  her  a  nice  little  send-off,"  said  the 
manager.     "  I'll  look  after  the  flowers." 

Drouet  smiled  at  his  good-nature. 

"  After  the  show  you  must  come  with  me  and  we'll 
have  a  little  supper." 

"  I  think  she'll  do  all  right,"  said  Drouet. 

"  I  want  to  see  her.  She's  got  to  do  all  right.  We'll 
make  her,"  and  the  manager  gave  one  of  his  quick,  steely 
half-smiles,  which  was  a  compound  of  good-nature  and 
shrewdness. 

Carrie,  meanwhile,  attended  the  first  rehearsal.  At  this 
performance  Mr.  Quincel  presided,  aided  by  Mr.  Millice, 
a  young  man  who  had  some  qualifications  of  past  ex- 
perience, which  were  not  exactly  understood  by  any  one. 
He  was  so  experienced  and  so  business-like,  however,  that 
he  came  very  near  being  rude — failing  to  remember,  as 


1 82  SISTER  CARRIE 

he  did,  that  the  individuals  he  was  trying  to  instruct  were 
volunteer  players  and  not  salaried  underlings. 

"  Now,  Miss  Madenda,"  he  said,  addressing  Carrie, 
who  stood  in  one  part  uncertain  as  to  what  move  to  make, 
"  you  don't  want  to  stand  like  that.  Put  expression  in 
your  face.  Remember,  you  are  troubled  over  the  intru- 
sion of  the  stranger.  Walk  so,"  and  he  struck  out 
across  the  Avery  stage  in  a  most  drooping  manner. 

Carrie  did  not  exactly  fancy  the  suggestion,  but  the 
novelty  of  the  situation,  the  presence  of  strangers,  all  more 
or  less  nervous,  and  the  desire  to  do  anything  rather  than 
make  a  failure,  made  her  timid.  She  walked  in  imitation 
of  her  mentor  as  requested,  inwardly  feeling  that  there 
was  something  strangely  lacking. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Morgan,"  said  the  director  to  one  young 
married  woman  who  was  to  take  the  part  of  Pearl,  "  you 
sit  here.  Now,  Mr.  Bamberger,  you  stand  here,  so.  Now, 
what  is  it  you  say?  " 

"  Explain,"  said  Mr.  Bamberger  feebly.  He  had  the 
part  of  Ray,  Laura's  lover,  the  society  individual  who 
was  to  waver  in  his  thoughts  of  marrying  her,  upon 
finding  that  she  was  a  waif  and  a  nobody  by  birth. 

"  How  is  that — what  does  your  text  say?  " 

"  Explain,"  repeated  Mr.  Bamberger,  looking  in- 
tently at  his  part. 

"  Yes,  but  it  also  says,"  the  director  remarked,  "  that 
you  are  to  look  shocked.  Now,  say  it  again,  and  see  if 
you  can't  look  shocked." 

"  Explain  !  "  demanded  Mr.  Bamberger  vigorously. 

"  No,  no,  that  won't  do!     Say  it  this  way — explain." 

"  Explain,"  said  Mr.  Bamberger,  giving  a  modified 
imitation. 

"  That's  better.     Now  go  on." 

"  One  night,"  resumed  Mrs.  Morgan,  whose  lines 
came  next,  "  father  and  mother  were  going  to  the  opera. 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 83 

When  they  were  crossing  Broadway,  the  usual  crowd  of 
children  accosted  them  for  alms " 

"  Hold  on,"  said  the  director,  rushing  forward,  his  arm 
extended.     "  Put  more  feeling  into  what  you  are  saying." 

Mrs.  Morgan  looked  at  him  as  if  she  feared  a  personal 
assault.     Her  eye  lightened  with  resentment. 

"  Remember,  Mrs.  Morgan,"  he  added,  ignoring  the 
gleam,  but  modifying  his  manner,  "  that  you're  detailing 
a  pathetic  story.  You  are  now  supposed  to  be  telling 
something  that  is  a  grief  to  you.  It  requires  feeling,  re- 
pression, thus :  '  The  usual  crowd  of  children  accosted 
them  for  alms.' " 

"All  right,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  Now,  go  on." 

"  As  mother  felt  in  her  pocket  for  some  change,  her 
fingers  touched  a  cold  and  trembling  hand  which  had 
clutched  her  purse." 

"  Very  good,"  interrupted  the  director,  nodding  his 
head  significantly. 

"  A  pickpocket !  Well ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bam- 
berger, speaking  the  lines  that  here  fell  to  him. 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Bamberger,"  said  the  director,  approach- 
ing, "  not  that  way.  '  A  pickpocket — well?  '  so.  That's 
the  idea." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  Carrie  weakly,  noticing  that  it 
had  not  been  proved  yet  whether  the  members  of  the  com- 
pany knew  their  lines,  let  alone  the  details  of  expression, 
"  that  it  would  be  better  if  we  just  went  through  our  lines 
once  to  see  if  we  know  them?  We  might  pick  up  some 
points." 

"  A  very  good  idea,  Miss  Madenda,"  said  Mr.  Quincel, 
who  sat  at  the  side  of  the  stage,  looking  serenely  on 
and  volunteering  opinions  which  the  director  did  not 
heed. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  latter,  somewhat  abashed,  "  it 


1 84  SISTER   CARRIE 

might  be  well  to  do  it."  Then  brightening,  with  a  show 
of  authority,  "  Suppose  we  run  right  through,  putting  in 
as  much  expression  as  we  can." 

"  Good,"  said  Mr.  Quincel. 

"  This  hand,"  resumed  Mrs.  Morgan,  glancing  up  at 
Mr.  Bamberger  and  down  at  her  book,  as  the  lines  pro- 
ceeded, "  my  mother  grasped  in  her  own,  and  so  tight 
that  a  small,  feeble  voice  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pain. 
Mother  looked  down,  and  there  beside  her  was  a  little 
ragged  girl." 

"  Very  good,"  observed  the  director,  now  hopelessly 
idle. 

"  The  thief !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bamberger. 

"  Louder,"  put  in  the  director,  finding  it  almost  impos- 
sible to  keep  his  hands  off. 

"  The  thief !  "  roared  poor  Bamberger. 

"  Yes,  but  a  thief  hardly  six  years  old,  with  a  face  like 
an  angel's.  '  Stop,'  said  my  mother.  '  What  are  you 
doing  ? ' 

"  '  Trying  to  steal,'  said  the  child. 

"  '  Don't  you  know  that  it  is  wicked  to  do  so  ? '  asked 
my  father. 

"  •  No,'  said  the  girl,  '  but  it  is  dreadful  to  be 
hungry/ 

"  '  Who  told  you  to  steal  ?  '  asked  my  mother. 

"  '  She — there,'  said  the  child,  pointing  to  a  squalid 
woman  in  a  doorway  opposite,  who  fled  suddenly  down 
the  street.    '  That  is  old  Judas,'  said  the  girl." 

Mrs.  Morgan  read  this  rather  flatly,  and  the  director  was 
in  despair.  He  fidgeted  around,  and  then  went  over  to 
Mr.  Quincel. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  we'll  be  able  to  whip  them  into  shape," 
said  the  latter,  with  an  air  of  strength  under  difficulties. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  director.     "  That  fellow  Bam- 


SISTER  CARRIE  185 

berger  strikes  me  as  being  a  pretty  poor  shift  for  a 
lover." 

"  He's  all  we've  got,"  said  Quincel,  rolling  up  his  eyes. 
"  Harrison  went  back  on  me  at  the  last  minute.  Who 
else  can  we  get?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  director.  "  I'm  afraid  he'll 
never  pick  up." 

At  this  moment  Bamberger  was  exclaiming,  "  Pearl, 
you  are  joking  with  me." 

Look  at  that  now,"  said  the  director,  whispering  be- 
hind his  hand.  "  My  Lord!  what  can  you  do  with  a  man 
who  drawls  out  a  sentence  like  that?  " 

"  Do  the  best  you  can,"  said  Quincel  consolingly. 

The  rendition  ran  on  in  this  wise  until  it  came  to  where 
Carrie,  as  Laura,  comes  into  the  room  to  explain  to  Ray, 
who,  after  hearing  Pearl's  statement  about  her  birth,  had 
written  the  letter  repudiating  her,  which,  however,  he  did 
not  deliver.  Bamberger  was  just  concluding  the  words 
of  Ray,  "  I  must  go  before  she  returns.  Her  step !  Too 
late,"  and  was  cramming  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  when 
She  began  sweetly  with : 

"  Ray !  " 

"  Miss — Miss  Courtland,"  Bamberger  faltered 
weakly. 

Carrie  looked  at  him  a  moment  and  forgot  all  about  the 
company  present.  She  began  to  feel  the  part,  and  sum- 
moned an  indifferent  smile  to  her  lips,  turning  as  the 
lines  directed  and  going  to  a  window,  as  if  he  were  not 
present.  She  did  it  with  a  grace  which  was  fascinating 
to  look  upon. 

"Who  is  that  woman?"  asked  the  director,  watching 
Carrie  in  her  little  scene  with  Bamberger. 

"  Miss  Madenda,"  said  Quincel. 

"  I  know  her  name,"  said  the  director,  "  but  what  does 
she  do?  " 


1 86  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I  don't  know,''  said  Quincel.  "  She's  a  friend  of  one 
of  our  members." 

"  Well,  she's  got  more  gumption  than  any  one  I've  seen 
here  so  far — seems  to  take  an  interest  in  what  she's 
doing." 

"  Pretty,  too,  isn't  she?  "  said  Quincel. 

The  director  strolled  away  without  answering. 

In  the  second  scene,  where  she  was  supposed  to  face  the 
company  in  the  ball-room,  she  did  even  better,  winning 
the  smile  of  the  director,  who  volunteered,  because  of  her 
fascination  for  him,  to  come  over  and  speak  with  her. 

"  Were  you  ever  on  the  stage?  "  he  asked  insinuatingly. 

"  No,"  said  Carrie. 

"  You  do  so  well,  I  thought  you  might  have  had  some 
experience." 

Carrie  only  smiled  consciously. 

He  walked  away  to  listen  to  Bamberger,  who  was 
feebly  spouting  some  ardent  line. 

Mrs.  Morgan  saw  the  drift  of  things  and  gleamed  at 
Carrie  with  envious  and  snapping  black  eyes. 

"  She's  some  cheap  professional,"  she  gave  herself  the 
satisfaction  of  thinking,  and  scorned  and  hated  her  ac- 
cordingly. 

The  rehearsal  ended  for  one  day,  and  Carrie  went  home 
feeling  that  she  had  acquitted  herself  satisfactorily.  The 
words  of  the  director  were  ringing  in  her  ears,  and  she 
longed  for  an  opportunity  to  tell  Hurstwood.  She  wanted 
him  to  know  just  how  well  she  was  doing.  Drouet,  too, 
was  an  object  for  her  confidences.  She  could  hardly  wait 
until  he  should  ask  her,  and  yet  she  did  not  have  the  vanity 
to  bring  it  up.  The  drummer,  however,  had  another  line 
of  thought  to-night,  and  her  little  experience  did  not  ap- 
peal to  him  as  important.  He  let  the  conversation  drop, 
save  for  what  she  chose  to  recite  without  solicitation,  and 
Carrie  was  not  good  at  that.     He  took  it  for  granted  that 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 87 

she  was  doing  very  well  and  he  was  relieved  of  further 
worry.  Consequently  he  threw  Carrie  into  repression, 
which  was  irritating.  She  felt  his  indifference  keenly  and 
longed  to  see  Hurstwood.  It  was  as  if  he  were  now  the 
only  friend  she  had  on  earth.  The  next  morning  Drouet 
was  interested  again,  but  the  damage  had  been  done. 

She  got  a  pretty  letter  from  the  manager,  saying  that 
by  the  time  she  got  it  he  would  be  waiting  for  her  in  the 
park.  When  she  came,  he  shone  upon  her  as  the  morn- 
ing sun. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  asked,  "  how  did  you  come  out?  " 

"  Well  enough,"  she  said,  still  somewhat  reduced  after 
Drouet. 

"  Now,  tell  me  just  what  you  did.  Was  it 
pleasant?" 

Carrie  related  the  incidents  of  the  rehearsal,  warming 
up  as  she  proceeded. 

"  Well,  that's  delightful,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  I'm  so 
glad.  I  must  get  over  there  to  see  you.  When  is  the 
next  rehearsal?  " 

"  Tuesday,"  said  Carrie,  "  but  they  don't  allow  visitors." 

"  I  imagine  I  could  get  in,"  said  Hurstwood  signifi- 
cantly. 

She  was  completely  restored  and  delighted  by  his  con- 
sideration, but  she  made  him  promise  not  to  come  around. 

"  Now,  you  must  do  your  best  to  please  me,"  he  said 
encouragingly.  "  Just  remember  that  I  want  you  to  suc- 
ceed. We  will  make  the  performance  worth  while.  You 
do  that  now." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Carrie,  brimming  with  affection  and 
enthusiasm. 

"  That's  the  girl,"  said  Hurstwood  fondly.  "  Now,  re- 
member," shaking  an  affectionate  finger  at  her,  "  your 
best." 

"  I  will,"  she  answered,  looking  back. 


1 88  SISTER  CARRIE 

The  whole  earth  was  brimming  sunshine  that  morning. 
She  tripped  along,  the  clear  sky  pouring  liquid  blue  into 
her  soul.  Oh,  blessed  are  the  children  of  endeavour  in 
this,  that  they  try  and  are  hopeful.  And  blessed  also  are 
they  who,  knowing,  smile  and  approve. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

JUST  OVER  THE  BORDER :  A  HAIL  AND  FAREWELL 

By  the  evening  of  the  16th  the  subtle  hand  of  Hurst- 
wood  had  made  itself  apparent.  He  had  given  the  word 
among  his  friends — and  they  were  many  and  influential — 
that  here  was  something  which  they  ought  to  attend, 
and,  as  a  consequence,  the  sale  of  tickets  by  Mr.  Quincel, 
acting  for  the  lodge,  had  been  large.  Small  four-line 
notes  had  appeared  in  all  of  the  daily  newspapers.  These 
he  had  arranged  for  by  the  aid  of  one  of  his  newspaper 
friends  on  the  "  Times,"  Mr.  Harry  McGarren,  the  man- 
aging editor. 

"  Say,  Harry,"  Hurstwood  said  to  him  one  evening, 
as  the  latter  stood  at  the  bar  drinking  before  wending  his 
belated  way  homeward,  "  you  can  help  the  boys  out,  I 
guess." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  McGarren,  pleased  to  be  consulted 
by  the  opulent  manager. 

"  The  Custer  Lodge  is  getting  up  a  little  entertain- 
ment for  their  own  good,  and  they'd  like  a  little  newspaper 
notice.  You  know  what  I  mean — a  squib  or  two  saying 
that  it's  going  to  take  place." 

"  Certainly,"  said  McGarren,  "  I  can  fix  that  for  you, 
George." 

At  the  same  time  Hurstwood  kept  himself  wholly  in 
the  background.  The  members  of  Custer  Lodge  could 
scarcely  understand  why  their  little  affair  was  taking  so 
well.  Mr.  Harry  Quincel  was  looked  upon  as  quite  a 
star  for  this  sort  of  work. 


190 


SISTER  CARRIE 


By  the  time  the  16th  had  arrived  Hurstwood's  friends 
had  rallied  like  Romans  to  a  senator's  call.  A  well- 
dressed,  good-natured,  flatteringly-inclined  audience 
was  assured  from  the  moment  he  thought  of  assisting 
Carrie. 

That  little  student  had  mastered  her  part  to  her  own 
satisfaction,  much  as  she  trembled  for  her  fate  when  she 
should  once  face  the  gathered  throng,  behind  the  glare 
of  the  footlights.  She  tried  to  console  herself  with  the 
thought  that  a  score  of  other  persons,  men  and  women, 
were  equally  tremulous  concerning  the  outcome  of  their 
efforts,  but  she  could  not  disassociate  the  general  danger 
from  her  own  individual  liability.  She  feared  that  she 
would  forget  her  lines,  that  she  might  be  unable  to  master 
the  feeling  which  she  now  felt  concerning  her  own  move- 
ments in  the  play.  At  times  she  wished  that  she  had  never 
gone  into  the  affair;  at  others,  she  trembled  lest  she 
should  be  paralysed  with  fear  and  stand  white  and  gasp- 
ing, not  knowing  what  to  say  and  spoiling  the  entire 
performance. 

In  the  matter  of  the  company,  Mr.  Bamberger  had 
disappeared.  That  hopeless  example  had  fallen  under 
the  lance  of  the  director's  criticism.  Mrs.  Morgan  was  still 
present,  but  envious  and  determined,  if  for  nothing  more 
than  spite,  to  do  as  well  as  Carrie  at  least.  A  loafing 
professional  had  been  called  in  to  assume  the  role  of  Ray, 
and,  while  he  was  a  poor  stick  of  his  kind,  he  was  not 
troubled  by  any  of  those  qualms  which  attack  the  spirit 
of  those  who  have  never  faced  an  audience.  He  swashed 
about  (cautioned  though  he  was  to  maintain  silence  con- 
cerning his  past  theatrical  relationships)  in  such  a  self- 
confident  manner  that  he  was  like  to  convince  every  one  of 
his  identity  by  mere  matter  of  circumstantial  evidence. 

"  It  is  so  easy,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Morgan,  in  the  usual  af- 
fected stage  voice.     "  An  audience  would  be  the  last 


SISTER  CARRIE 


191 


thing  to  trouble  me.  It's  the  spirit  of  the  part,  you  know, 
that  is  difficult." 

Carrie  disliked  his  appearance,  but  she  was  too  much 
the  actress  not  to  swallow  his  qualities  with  complaisance, 
seeing  that  she  must  suffer  his  fictitious  love  for  the 
evening. 

At  six  she  was  ready  to  go.  Theatrical  paraphernalia 
had  been  provided  over  and  above  her  care.  She  had 
practised  her  make-up  in  the  morning,  had  rehearsed 
and  arranged  her  material  for  the  evening  by  one  o'clock, 
and  had  gone  home  to  have  a  final  look  at  her  part,  wait- 
ing for  the  evening  to  come. 

On  this  occasion  the  lodge  sent  a  carriage.  Drouet 
rode  with  her  as  far  as  the  door,  and  then  went  about  the 
neighbouring  stores,  looking  for  some  good  cigars.  The 
little  actress  marched  nervously  into  her  dressing-room 
and  began  that  painfully  anticipated  matter  of  make-up 
which  was  to  transform  her,  a  simple  maiden,  to  Laura, 
The  Belle  of  Society. 

The  flare  of  the  gas-jets,  the  open  trunks,  suggestive  of 
travel  and  display,  the  scattered  contents  of  the  make-up 
box — rouge,  pearl  powder,  whiting,  burnt  cork,  India 
ink,  pencils  for  the  eyelids,  wigs,  scissors,  looking-glasses, 
drapery — in  short,  all  the  nameless  paraphernalia  of  dis- 
guise, have  a  remarkable  atmosphere  of  their  own.  Since 
her  arrival  in  the  city  many  things  had  influenced  her, 
but  always  in  a  far-removed  manner.  This  new  atmos- 
phere was  more  friendly.  It  was  wholly  unlike  the  great 
brilliant  mansions  which  waved  her  coldly  away,  per- 
mitting her  only  awe  and  distant  wonder.  This  took  her 
by  the  hand  kindly,  as  one  who  says,  "  My  dear,  come  in." 
It  opened  for  her  as  if  for  its  own.  She  had  wondered  at 
the  greatness  of  the  names  upon  the  bill-boards,  the 
marvel  of  the  long  notices  in  the  papers,  the  beauty  of  the 
dresses   upon  the  stage,  the  atmosphere  of  carriages, 


192  SISTER  CARRIE 

flowers,  refinement.  Here  was  no  illusion.  Here  was  an 
open  door  to  see  all  of  that.  She  had  come  upon  it  as  one 
who  stumbles  upon  a  secret  passage,  and,  behold,  she  was 
in  the  chamber  of  diamonds  and  delight ! 

As  she  dressed  with  a  flutter,  in  her  little  stage  room, 
hearing  the  voices  outside,  seeing  Mr.  Quincel  hurrying 
here  and  there,  noting  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Mrs.  Hoagland 
at  their  nervous  work  of  preparation,  seeing  all  the  twenty 
members  of  the  cast  moving  about  and  worrying  over 
what  the  result  would  be,  she  could  not  help  thinking 
what  a  delight  this  would  be  if  it  would  endure ;  how  per- 
fect a  state,  if  she  could  only  do  well  now,  and  then  some 
time  get  a  place  as  a  real  actress.  The  thought  had 
taken  a  mighty  hold  upon  her.  It  hummed  in  her  ears  as 
the  melody  of  an  old  song. 

Outside  in  the  little  lobby  another  scene  was  being 
enacted.  Without  the  interest  of  Hurstwood,  the  little 
hall  would  probably  have  been  comfortably  filled,  for  the 
members  of  the  lodge  were  moderately  interested  in  its 
welfare.  Hurstwood's  word,  however,  had  gone  the 
rounds.  It  was  to  be  a  full-dress  affair.  The  four  boxes 
had  been  taken.  Dr.  Norman  McNeill  Hale  and  his  wife 
were  to  occupy  one.  This  was  quite  a  card.  C.  R. 
Walker,  dry-goods  merchant  and  possessor  of  at  least 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  had  taken  another ;  a  well- 
known  coal  merchant  had  been  induced  to  take  the  third, 
and  Hurstwood  and  his  friends  the  fourth.  Among  the 
latter  was  Drouet.  The  people  who  were  now  pouring 
here  were  not  celebrities,  nor  even  local  notabilities,  in  a 
general  sense.  They  were  the  lights  of  a  certain  circle — 
the  circle  of  small  fortunes  and  secret  order  distinctions. 
These  gentlemen  Elks  knew  the  standing  of  one  another. 
They  had  regard  for  the  ability  which  could  amass  a  small 
fortune,  own  a  nice  home,  keep  a  barouche  or  carriage, 
perhaps,  wear  fine  clothes,  and  maintain  a  good  mer- 


SISTER  CARRIE 


193 


cantile  position.  Naturally,  Hurstwood,  who  was  a  little 
above  the  order  of  mind  which  accepted  this  standard  as 
perfect,  who  had  shrewdness  and  much  assumption  of 
dignity,  who  held  an  imposing  and  authoritative  position, 
and  commanded  friendship  by  intuitive  tact  in  handling 
people,  was  quite  a  figure.  He  was  more  generally  known 
than  most  others  in  the  same  circle,  and  was  looked  upon 
as  some  one  whose  reserve  covered  a  mine  of  influence 
and  solid  financial  prosperity. 

To-night  he  was  in  his  element.  He  came  with  several 
friends  directly  from  Rector's  in  a  carriage.  In  the  lobby 
he  met  Drouet,  who  was  just  returning  from  a  trip  for 
more  cigars.  All  five  now  joined  in  an  animated  con- 
versation concerning  the  company  present  and  the  gen- 
eral drift  of  lodge  affairs. 

"  Who's  here  ? "  said  Hurstwood,  passing  into  the 
theatre  proper,  where  the  lights  were  turned  up  and  a 
company  of  gentlemen  were  laughing  and  talking  in  the 
open  space  back  of  the  seats. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hurstwood  ?  "  came  from 
the  first  individual  recognised. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  latter,  grasping  his  hand 
lightly. 

"  Looks  quite  an  affair,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  manager. 

"  Custer  seems  to  have  the  backing  of  its  members," 
observed  the  friend. 

"  So  it  should,"  said  the  knowing  manager.  "  I'm  glad 
to  see  it." 

"  Well,  George,"  said  another  rotund  citizen,  whose 
avoirdupois  made  necessary  an  almost  alarming  display 
of  starched  shirt  bosom,  "  how  goes  it  with  you  ?  " 

"  Excellent,"  said  the  manager. 

"  What  brings  you  over  here  ?  You're  not  a  member  of 
Custer." 

13 


1 94  SISTER   CARRIE 

"  Good-nature,"  returned  the  manager.  "  Like  to  see 
the  boys,  you  know." 

"Wife  here?" 

"  She  couldn't  come  to-night.    She's  not  well." 

"  Sorry  to  hear  it — nothing  serious,  I  hope." 

"  No,  just  feeling  a  little  ill." 

"  I  remember  Mrs.  Hurstwood  when  she  was  travelling 
once  with  you  over  to  St.  Joe — "  and  here  the  newcomer 
launched  off  in  a  trivial  recollection,  which  was  terminated 
by  the  arrival  of  more  friends. 

"  Why,  George,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  another  genial 
West  Side  politician  and  lodge  member.  "  My,  but  I'm 
glad  to  see  you  again;  how  are  things,  anyhow?  " 

"  Very  well ;  I  see  you  got  that  nomination  for  alder- 
man." 

"  Yes,  we  whipped  them  out  over  there  without  much 
trouble." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  Hennessy  will  do  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he'll  go  back  to  his  brick  business.  He  has  a 
brick-yard,  you  know." 

"  I  didn't  know  that/"  said  the  manager.  "  Felt  pretty 
sore,  I  suppose,  over  his  defeat." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  other,  winking  shrewdly. 

Some  of  the  more  favoured  of  his  friends  whom  he  had 
invited  began  to  roll  up  in  carriages  now.  They  came 
shuffling  in  with  a  great  show  of  finery  and  much  evident 
feeling  of  content  and  importance. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Hurstwood,  turning  to  one  from  a 
group  with  wlom  he  was  talking. 

"  That's  right,"  returned  the  newcomer,  a  gentleman  of 
about  forty-five. 

"  And  say,"  he  whispered,  jovially,  pulling  Hurst- 
wood over  by  the  shoulder  so  that  he  might  whisper 
in  his  ear,  "  if  this  isn't  a  good  show,  I'll  punch  your 
head." 


SISTER  CARRIE  195 

"  You  ought  to  pay  for  seeing  your  old  friends.  Bother 
the  show !  " 

To  another  who  inquired,  "  Is  it  something  really 
good  ?  "  the  manager  replied  : 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  suppose  so."  Then,  lifting  his 
hand  graciously,  "  For  the  lodge." 

"  Lots  of  boys  out,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  look  up  Shanahan.  He  was  just  asking  for  you 
a  moment  ago." 

It  was  thus  that  the  little  theatre  resounded  to  a  babble 
of  successful  voices,  the  creak  of  fine  clothes,  the  common- 
place of  good-nature,  and  all  largely  because  of  this  man's 
bidding.  Look  at  him  any  time  within  the  half  hour  be- 
fore the  curtain  was  up,  he  was  a  member  of  an  eminent 
group — a  rounded  company  of  five  or  more  whose  stout 
figures,  large  white  bosoms,  and  shining  pins  bespoke 
the  character  of  their  success.  The  gentlemen  who 
brought  their  wives  called  him  out  to  shake  hands.  Seats 
clicked,  ushers  bowed  while  he  looked  blandly  on.  He 
was  evidently  a  light  among  them,  reflecting  in  his  per- 
sonality the  ambitions  of  those  who  greeted  him.  He 
was  acknowledged,  fawned  upon,  in  a  way  lionised. 
Through  it  all  one  could  see  the  standing  of  the  man. 
It  was  greatness  in  a  way,  small  as  it  was. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN  HOUR  IN  ELFLAND:  A  CLAMOUR  HALF  HEARD 

At  last  the  curtain  was  ready  to  go  up.  All  the  details 
of  the  make-up  had  been  completed,  and  the  company  set- 
tled down  as  the  leader  of  the  small,  hired  orchestra 
tapped  significantly  upon  his  music  rack  with  his  baton 
and  began  the  soft  curtain-raising  strain.  Hurstwood 
ceased  talking,  and  went  with  Drouet  and  his  friend  Sagar 
Morrison  around  to  the  box. 

"  Now,  we'll  see  how  the  little  girl  does,"  he  said  to 
Drouet,  in  a  tone  which  no  one  else  could  hear. 

On  the  stage,  six  of  the  characters  had  already  ap- 
peared in  the  opening  parlour  scene.  Drouet  and  Hurst- 
wood saw  at  a  glance  that  Carrie  was  not  among  them, 
and  went  on  talking  in  a  whisper.  Mrs.  Morgan,  Mrs. 
Hoagland,  and  the  actor  who  had  taken  Bamberger's  part 
were  representing  the  principal  roles  in  this  scene.  The 
professional,  whose  name  was  Patton,  had  little  to  recom- 
mend him  outside  of  his  assurance,  but  this  at  the  present 
moment  was  most  palpably  needed.  Mrs.  Morgan,  as 
Pearl,  was  stiff  with  fright.  Mrs.  Hoagland  was  husky 
in  the  throat.  The  whole  company  was  so  weak-kneed 
that  the  lines  were  merely  spoken,  and  nothing  more. 
It  took  all  the  hope  and  uncritical  good-nature  of  the 
audience  to  keep  from  manifesting  pity  by  that  unrest 
which  is  the  agony  of  failure. 

Hurstwood  was  perfectly  indifferent.  He  took  it  for 
granted  that  it  would  be  worthless.    All  he  cared  for  was 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 97 

to  have  it  endurable  enough  to  allow  for  pretension  and 
congratulation  afterward. 

After  the  first  rush  of  fright,  however,  the  players  got 
over  the  danger  of  collapse.  They  rambled  weakly  for- 
ward, losing  nearly  all  the  expression  which  was  in- 
tended, and  making  the  thing  dull  in  the  extreme,  when 
Carrie  came  in. 

One  glance  at  her,  and  both  Hurstwood  and  Drouet 
saw  plainly  that  she  also  was  weak-kneed.  She  came 
faintly  across  the  stage,  saying : 

"And  you,  sir;  we  have  been  looking  for  you  since 
eight  o'clock,"  but  with  so  little  colour  and  in  such  a 
feeble  voice  that  it  was  positively  painful. 

"  She's  frightened,"  whispered  Drouet  to  Hurstwood. 

The  manager  made  no  answer. 

She  had  a  line  presently  which  was  supposed  to  be 
funny. 

"  Well,  that's  as  much  as  to  say  that  I'm  a  sort  of 
life  pill." 

It  came  out  so  flat,  however,  that  it  was  a  deathly  thing. 
Drouet  fidgeted.  Hurstwood  moved  his  toe  the  least 
bit. 

There  was  another  place  in  which  Laura  was  to  rise 
and,  with  a  sense  of  impending  disaster,  say,  sadly : 

"  I  wish  you  hadn't  said  that,  Pearl.  You  know  the  old 
proverb,  '  Call  a  maid  by  a  married  name.' " 

The  lack  of  feeling  in  the  thing  was  ridiculous.  Carrie 
did  not  get  it  at  all.  She  seemed  to  be  talking  in  her  sleep. 
It  looked  as  if  she  were  certain  to  be  a  wretched  failure. 
She  was  more  hopeless  than  Mrs.  Morgan,  who  had  re- 
covered somewhat,  and  was  now  saying  her  lines  clearly 
at  least.  Drouet  looked  away  from  the  stage  at  the  audi- 
ence. The  latter  held  out  silently,  hoping  for  a  general 
change,  of  course.  Hurstwood  fixed  his  eye  on  Carrie,  as 
if  to  hypnotise  her  into  doing  better.    He  was  pouring  de- 


198  SISTER   CARRIE 

termination  of  his  own  in  her  direction.  He  felt  sorry 
for  her. 

In  a  few  more  minutes  it  fell  to  her  to  read  the  letter 
sent  in  by  the  strange  villain.  The  audience  had  been 
slightly  diverted  by  a  conversation  between  the  pro- 
fessional actor  and  a  character'  called  Snorky,  imper- 
sonated by  a  short  little  American,  who  really  developed 
some  humour  as  a  half-crazed,  one-armed  soldier,  turned 
messenger  for  a  living.  He  bawled  his  lines  out  with  such 
defiance  that,  while  they  really  did  not  partake  of  the 
humour  intended,  they  were  funny.  Now  he  was  off,  how- 
ever, and  it  was  back  to  pathos,  with  Carrie  as  the  chief 
figure.  She  did  not  recover.  She  wandered  through  the 
whole  scene  between  herself  and  the  intruding  villain, 
straining  the  patience  of  the  audience,  and  finally  exiting, 
much  to  their  relief. 

"  She's  too  nervous,"  said  Drouet,  feeling  in  the  mild- 
ness of  the  remark  that  he  was  lying  for  once. 

"  Better  go  back  and  say  a  word  to  her." 

Drouet  was  glad  to  do  anything  for  relief.  He  fairly 
hustled  around  to  the  side  entrance,  and  was  let  in  by  the 
friendly  doorkeeper.  Carrie  was  standing  in  the  wings, 
weakly  waiting  her  next  cue,  all  the  snap  and  nerve  gone 
out  of  her. 

"  Say,  Cad,"  he  said,  looking  at  her,  "  you  mustn't  be 
nervous.  Wake  up.  Those  guys  out  there  don't  amount 
to  anything.    What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  just  don't  seem  to  be 
able  to  do  it." 

She  was  grateful  for  the  drummer's  presence,  though. 
She  had  found  the  company  so  nervous  that  her  own 
strength  had  gone. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Drouet.  "  Brace  up.  What  are  you 
afraid  of  ?  Go  on  out  there  now,  and  do  the  trick.  What 
do  you  care  ?  " 


SISTER  CARRIE  1 99 

Carrie  revived  a  little  under  the  drummer's  electrical, 
nervous  condition. 

"  Did  I  do  so  very  bad  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  All  you  need  is  a  little  more  ginger.  Do  it 
as  you  showed  me.  Get  that  toss  of  your  head  you  had 
the  other  night." 

Carrie  remembered  her  triumph  in  the  room.  She  tried 
to  think  she  could  do  it. 

"  What's  next?"  he  said,  looking  at  her  part,  which 
she  had  been  studying. 

"  Why,  the  scene  between  Ray  and  me  when  I  refuse 
him." 

"  Well,  now  you  do  that  lively,"  said  the  drummer. 
"  Put  in  snap,  that's  the  thing.  Act  as  if  you  didn't 
care." 

"  Your  turn  next,  Miss  Madenda,"  said  the  prompter. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  you're  a  chump  for  being  afraid,"  said  Drouet. 
"  Come  on  now,  brace  up.  I'll  watch  you  from  right 
here." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Yes,  now  go  on.    Don't  be  afraid." 

The  prompter  signalled  her. 

She  started  out,  weak  as  ever,  but  suddenly  her  nerve 
partially  returned.    She  thought  of  Drouet  looking. 

"  Ray,"  she  said,  gently,  using  a  tone  of  voice  much 
more  calm  than  when  she  had  last  appeared.  It  was  the 
scene  which  had  pleased  the  director  at  the  rehearsal. 

"  She's  easier,"  thought  Hurstwood  to  himself. 

She  did  not  do  the  part  as  she  had  at  rehearsal,  but  she 
was  better.  The  audience  was  at  least  not  irritated.  The 
improvement  of  the  work  of  the  entire  company  took 
away  direct  observation  from  her.  They  were  making 
very  fair  progress,  and  now  it  looked  as  if  the  play  would 
be  passable,  in  the  less  trying  parts  at  least. 


200  SISTER  CARRIE 

Carrie  came  off  warm  and  nervous. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  looking  at  him,  "  was  it  any  better?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so.  That's  the  way.  Put  life  into 
it.  You  did  that  about  a  thousand  per  cent,  better  than 
you  did  the  other  scene.  Now  go  on  and  fire  up.  You 
can  do  it.    Knock  'em." 

"  Was  it  really  better  ?  " 

"  Better,  I  should  say  so.    What  comes  next  ?  " 

"  That  ballroom  scene." 

"  Well,  you  can  do  that  all  right,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Carrie. 

"  Why,  woman,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  did  it  for  me ! 
Now  you  go  out  there  and  do  it.  It'll  be  fun  for  you. 
Just  do  as  you  did  in  the  room.  If  you'll  reel  it  off  that 
way,  I'll  bet  you  make  a  hit.  Now,  what'll  you  bet? 
You  do  it." 

The  drummer  usually  allowed  his  ardent  good-nature 
to  get  the  better  of  his  speech.  He  really  did  think  that 
Carrie  had  acted  this  particular  scene  very  well,  and  he 
wanted  her  to  repeat  it  in  public.  His  enthusiasm  was  due 
to  the  mere  spirit  of  the  occasion. 

When  the  time  came,  he  buoyed  Carrie  up  most  ef- 
fectually. He  began  to  make  her  feel  as  if  she  had  done 
very  well.  The  old  melancholy  of  desire  began  to  come 
back  as  he  talked  at  her,  and  by  the  time  the  situation 
rolled  around  she  was  running  high  in  feeling. 

"  I  think  I  can  do  this." 

"  Sure  you  can.    Now  you  go  ahead  and  see." 

On  the  stage,  Mrs.  Van  Dam  was  making  her  cruel 
insinuation  against  Laura. 

Carrie  listened,  and  caught  the  infection  of  something — 
she  did  not  know  what.    Her  nostrils  sniffed  thinly. 

"  It  means,"  the  professional  actor  began,  speaking 
as  Ray,  "  that  society  is  a  terrible  avenger  of  insult. 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Siberian  wolves?    When 


SISTER  CARRIE  201 

one  of  the  pack  falls  through  weakness,  the  others  de- 
vour him.  It  is  not  an  elegant  comparison,  but  there 
is  something  wolfish  in  society.  Laura  has  mocked  it 
with  a  pretence,  and  society,  which  is  made  up  of  pre- 
tence, will  bitterly  resent  the  mockery." 

At  the  sound  of  her  stage  name  Carrie  started.  She 
began  to  feel  the  bitterness  of  the  situation.  The  feelings 
of  the  outcast  descended  upon  her.  She  hung  at  the 
wing's  edge,  wrapt  in  her  own  mounting  thoughts.  She 
hardly  heard  anything  more,  save  her  own  rumbling 
blood. 

"  Come,  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Dam,  solemnly,  "  let 
us  look  after  our  things.  They  are  no  longer  safe  when 
such  an  accomplished  thief  enters." 

"  Cue,"  said  the  prompter,  close  to  her  side,  but  she  did 
not  hear.  Already  she  was  moving  forward  with  a  steady 
grace,  born  of  inspiration.  She  dawned  upon  the  audi- 
ence, handsome  and  proud,  shifting,  with  the  necessity  of 
the  situation,  to  a  cold,  white,  helpless  object,  as  the  social 
pack  moved  away  from  her  scornfully. 

Hurstwood  blinked  his  eyes  and  caught  the  infection. 
The  radiating  waves  of  feeling  and  sincerity  were  already 
breaking  against  the  farthest  walls  of  the  chamber.  The 
magic  of  passion,  which  will  yet  dissolve  the  world,  was 
here  at  work. 

There  was  a  drawing,  too,  of  attention,  a  riveting  of 
feeling,  heretofore  wandering. 

"  Ray !  Ray !  Why  do  you  not  come  back  to  her  ?  " 
was  the  cry  of  Pearl. 

Every  eye  was  fixed  on  Carrie,  still  proud  and  scornful. 
They  moved  as  she  moved.  Their  eyes  were  with  her 
eyes. 

Mrs.  Morgan,  as  Pearl,  approached  her. 

"  Let  us  go  home,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  answered  Carrie,  her  voice  assuming  for  the 


202  SISTER  CARRIE 

first  time  a  penetrating  quality  which  it  had  never 
known.    "  Stay  with  him !  " 

She  pointed  an  almost  accusing  hand  toward  her  lover. 
Then,  with  a  pathos  which  struck  home  because  of  its 
utter  simplicity,  "  He  shall  not  suffer  long." 

Hurstwood  realised  that  he  was  seeing  something  ex- 
traordinarily good.  It  was  heightened  for  him  by  the 
applause  of  the  audience  as  the  curtain  descended  and  the 
fact  that  it  was  Carrie.  He  thought  now  that  she  was 
beautiful.  She  had  done  something  which  was  above  his 
sphere.  He  felt  a  keen  delight  in  realising  that  she  was 
his. 

"  Fine,"  he  said,  and  then,  seized  by  a  sudden  impulse, 
arose  and  went  about  to  the  stage  door. 

When  he  came  in  upon  Carrie  she  was  still  with  Drouet. 
His  feelings  for  her  were  most  exuberant.  He  was  almost 
swept  away  by  the  strength  and  feeling  she  exhibited. 
His  desire  was  to  pour  forth  his  praise  with  the  un- 
bounded feelings  of  a  lover,  but  here  was  Drouet,  whose 
affection  was  also  rapidly  reviving.  The  latter  was  more 
fascinated,  if  anything,  than  Hurstwood.  At  least,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  it  took  a  more  ruddy  form. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Drouet,  "  you  did  out  of  sight. 
That  was  simply  great.  I  knew  you  could  do  it.  Oh, 
but  you're  a  little  daisy !  " 

Carrie's  eyes  flamed  with  the  light  of  achievement. 

"Dial  do  all  right?" 

"  Did  you?  Well,  I  guess.  Didn't  you  hear  the  ap- 
plause ?  " 

There  was  some  faint  sound  of  clapping  yet. 

"  I  thought  I  got  it  something  like — I  felt  it." 

Just  then  Hurstwood  came  in.  Instinctively  he  felt 
the  change  in  Drouet.  He  saw  that  the  drummer  was 
near  to  Carrie,  and  jealousy  leaped  alight  in  his  bosom. 
In  a  flash  of  thought,  he  reproached  himself  for  having 


SISTER  CARRIE  203 

sent  him  back.  Also,  he  hated  him  as  an  intruder.  He 
could  scarcely  pull  himself  down  to  the  level  where  he 
would  have  to  congratulate  Carrie  as  a  friend.  Neverthe- 
less, the  man  mastered  himself,  and  it  was  a  triumph.  He 
almost  jerked  the  old  subtle  light  to  his  eyes. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  looking  at  Carrie,  "  I  would 
come  around  and  tell  you  how  well  you  did,  Mrs.  Drouet. 
It  was  delightful." 

Carrie  took  the  cue,  and  replied: 

"  Oh,  thank  you." 

"  I  was  just  telling  her,"  put  in  Drouet,  now  delighted 
with  his  possession,  "  that  I  thought  she  did  fine." 

"  Indeed  you  did,"  said  Hurstwood,  turning  upon  Car- 
rie eyes  in  which  she  read  more  than  the  words. 

Carrie  laughed  luxuriantly. 

"  If  you  do  as  well  in  the  rest  of  the  play,  you  will  make 
us  all  think  you  are  a  born  actress." 

Carrie  smiled  again.  She  felt  the  acuteness  of  Hurst- 
wood's  position,  and  wished  deeply  that  she  could  be 
alone  with  him,  but  she  did  not  understand  the  change  in 
Drouet.  Hurstwood  found  that  he  could  not  talk,  re- 
pressed as  he  was,  and  grudging  Drouet  every  moment  of 
his  presence,  he  bowed  himself  out  with  the  elegance  of 
a  Faust.    Outside  he  set  his  teeth  with  envy. 

"  Damn  it !  "  he  said,  "  is  he  always  going  to  be  in  the 
way  ?  "  He  was  moody  when  he  got  back  to  the  box,  and 
could  not  talk  for  thinking  of  his  wretched  situation. 

As  the  curtain  for  the  next  act  arose,  Drouet  came 
back.  He  was  very  much  enlivened  in  temper  and  in- 
clined to  whisper,  but  Hurstwood  pretended  interest. 
He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  stage,  although  Carrie  was  not 
there,  a  short  bit  of  melodramatic  comedy  preceding  her 
entrance.  He  did  not  see  what  was  going  on,  however. 
He  was  thinking  his  own  thoughts,  and  they  were 
wretched. 


204  SISTER  CARRIE 

The  progress  of  the  play  did  not  improve  matters  for 
him.  Carrie,  from  now  on,  was  easily  the  centre  of  inter- 
est. The  audience,  which  had  been  inclined  to  feel  that 
nothing  could  be  good  after  the  first  gloomy  impression, 
now  went  to  the  other  extreme  and  saw  power  where  it 
was  not.  The  general  feeling  reacted  on  Carrie.  She 
presented  her  part  with  some  felicity,  though  nothing 
like  the  intensity  which  had  aroused  the  feeling  at  the, 
end  of  the  long  first  act. 

Both  Hurstwood  and  Drouet  viewed  her  pretty  figure 
with  rising  feelings.  The  fact  that  such  ability  should 
reveal  itself  in  her,  that  they  should  see  it  set  forth  under 
such  effective  circumstances,  framed  almost  in  massy 
gold  and  shone  upon  by  the  appropriate  lights  of  senti- 
ment and  personality,  heightened  her  charm  for  them. 
She  was  more  than  the  old  Carrie  to  Drouet.  He 
longed  to  be  at  home  with  her  until  he  could  tell  her. 
He  awaited  impatiently  the  end,  when  they  should  go 
home  alone. 

Hurstwood,  on  the  contrary,  saw  in  the  strength  of  her 
new  attractiveness  his  miserable  predicament.  He  could 
have  cursed  the  man  beside  him.  By  the  Lord,  he  could 
not  even  applaud  feelingly  as  he  would.  For  once  he  must 
simulate  when  it  left  a  taste  in  his  mouth. 

It  was  in  the  last  act  that  Carrie's  fascination  for  her 
lovers  assumed  its  most  effective  character. 

Hurstwood  listened  to  its  progress,  wondering  when 
Carrie  would  come  on.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  The 
author  had  used  the  artifice  of  sending  all  the  merry  com- 
pany for  a  drive,  and  now  Carrie  came  in  alone.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  Hurstwood  had  had  a  chance  to  see  her 
facing  the  audience  quite  alone,  for  nowhere  else  had  she 
been  without  a  foil  of  some  sort.  He  suddenly  felt,  as  she 
entered,  that  her  old  strength — the  power  that  had  grasped 
him  at  the  end  of  the  first  act — had  come  back.     She 


SISTER  CARRIE  205 

seemed  to  be  gaining  feeling,  now  that  the  play  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close  and  the  opportunity  for  great  action  was 
passing. 

"  Poor  Pearl,"  she  said,  speaking  with  natural  pathos. 
"  It  is  a  sad  thing  to  want  for  happiness,  but  it  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  see  another  groping  about  blindly  for  it,  when  it 
is  almost  within  the  grasp." 

She  was  gazing  now  sadly  out  upon  the  open  sea,  her 
arm  resting  listlessly  upon  the  polished  door-post. 

Hurstwood  began  to  feel  a  deep  sympathy  for  her  and 
for  himself.  He  could  almost  feel  that  she  was  talking  to 
him.  He  was,  by  a  combination  of  feelings  and  entangle- 
ments, almost  deluded  by  that  quality  of  voice  and  manner 
which,  like  a  pathetic  strain  of  music,  seems  ever  a  per- 
sonal and  intimate  thing.  Pathos  has  this  quality,  that 
it  seems  ever  addressed  to  one  alone. 

"  And  yet,  she  can  be  very  happy  with  him,"  went  on 
the  little  actress.  "  Her  sunny  temper,  her  joyous  face 
will  brighten  any  home."  / 

She  turned  slowly  toward  the  audience  without  seeing. 
There  was  so  much  simplicity  in  her  movements  that  she 
seemed  wholly  alone.  Then  she  found  a  seat  by  a  table, 
and  turned  over  some  books,  devoting  a  thought  to 
them. 

"  With  no  longings  for  what  I  may  not  have,"  she 
breathed  in  conclusion — and  it  was  almost  a  sigh — "  my 
existence  hidden  from  all  save  two  in  the  wide  world,  and 
making  my  joy  out  of  the  joy  of  that  innocent  girl  who 
will  soon  be  his  wife." 

Hurstwood  was  sorry  when  a  character,  known  as 
Peach  Blossom,  interrupted  her.  He  stirred  irritably, 
for  he  wished  her  to  go  on.  He  was  charmed  by  the  pale 
face,  the  lissome  figure,  draped  in  pearl  grey,  with  a  coiled 
string  of  pears  at  the  throat.  Carrie  had  the  air  of  one  who 
was  weary  and  in  need  of  protection,  and,  under  the  fas- 


206  SISTER  CARRIE 

cinating  make-believe  of  the  moment,  he  rose  in  feeling 
until  he  was  ready  in  spirit  to  go  to  her  and  ease  her  out 
of  her  misery  by  adding  to  his  own  delight. 

In  a  moment  Carrie  was  alone  again,  and  was  saying, 
with  animation : 

"  I  must  return  to  the  city,  no  matter  what  dangers 
may  lurk  here.  I  must  go,  secretly  if  I  can;  openly, 
if  I  must." 

There  was  a  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  outside,  and  then 
Ray's  voice  saying: 

"  No,  I  shall  not  ride  again.    Put  him  up." 

He  entered,  and  then  began  a  scene  which  had  as  much 
to  do  with  the  creation  of  the  tragedy  of  affection  in 
Hurstwood  as  anything  in  his  peculiar  and  involved 
career.  For  Carrie  had  resolved  to  make  something 
of  this  scene,  and,  now  that  the  cue  had  come,  it 
began  to  take  a  feeling  hold  upon  her.  Both  Hurst- 
wood and  Drouet  noted  the  rising  sentiment  as  she 
proceeded. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone  with  Pearl,"  she  said  to 
her  lover. 

"  I  did  go  part  of  the  way,  but  I  left  the  party  a  mile 
down  the  road." 

"  You  and  Pearl  had  no  disagreement?  " 

"  No — yes ;  that  is,  we  always  have.  Our  social 
barometers  always  stand  at  '  cloudy '  and  over- 
cast.'" 

"  And  whose  fault  is  that  ?  "  she  said,  easily. 

•  "  Not  mine,"  he  answered,  pettishly.  "  I  know  I  do  all 
I  can — I  say  all  I  can — but  she " 

This  was  rather  awkwardly  put  by  Patton,  but  Carrie 
redeemed  it  with  a  grace  which  was  inspiring. 

"  But  she  is  your  wife,"  she  said,  fixing  her  whole  at- 
tention upon  the  stilled  actor,  and  softening  the  quality  of 
her  voice  until  it  was  again  low  and  musical.    "  Ray,  my 


SISTER  CARRIE  207 

friend,  courtship  is  the  text  from  which  the  whole  sermon 
of  married  life  takes  its  theme.  Do  not  let  yours  be  dis- 
contented and  unhappy." 

She  put  her  two  little  hands  together  and  pressed  them 
appealingly. 

Hurstwood  gazed  with  slightly  parted  lips.  Drouet 
was  fidgeting  with  satisfaction. 

"  To  be  my  wife,  yes,"  went  on  the  actor  in  a  manner 
which  was  weak  by  comparison,  but  which  could  not 
now  spoil  the  tender  atmosphere  which  Carrie  had  created 
and  maintained.  She  did  not  seem  to  feel  that  he  was 
wretched.  She  would  have  done  nearly  as  well  with  a 
block  of  wood.  The  accessories  she  needed  were  within 
her  own  imagination.  The  acting  of  others  could  not 
affect  them. 

"  And  you  repent  already  ?  "  she  said,  slowly. 

"  I  lost  you,"  he  said,  seizing  her  little  hand,  "  and  I 
was  at  the  mercy  of  any  flirt  who  chose  to  give  me  an  in- 
viting look.  It  was  your  fault — you  know  it  was — why 
did  you  leave  me?  " 

Carrie  turned  slowly  away,  and  seemed  to  be  mastering 
some  impulse  in  silence.    Then  she  turned  back. 

"  Ray,"  she  said,  "  the  greatest  happiness  I  have  ever 
felt  has  been  the  thought  that  all  your  affection  was  for- 
ever bestowed  upon  a  virtuous  woman,  your  equal  in  fam- 
ily, fortune,  and  accomplishments.  What  a  revelation  do 
you  make  to  me  now !  What  is  it  makes  you  continually 
war  with  your  happiness  ?  " 

The  last  question  was  asked  so  simply  that  it  came  to 
the  audience  and  the  lover  as  a  personal  thing. 

At  last  it  came  to  the  part  where  the  lover  exclaimed, 
"  Be  to  me  as  you  used  to  be." 

Carrie  answered,  with  affecting  sweetness,  "  I  can- 
not be  that  to  you,  but  I  can  speak  in  the  spirit  of  the 
Laura  who  is  dead  to  you  forever." 


208  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Be  it  as  you  will,"  said  Patton. 

Hurstwood  leaned  forward.  The  whole  audience  was 
silent  and  intent. 

"  Let  the  woman  you  look  upon  be  wise  or  vain," 
said  Carrie,  her  eyes  bent  sadly  upon  the  lover,  who  had 
sunk  into  a  seat,  "  beautiful  or  homely,  rich  or  poor, 
she  has  but  one  thing  she  can  really  give  or  refuse — her 
heart." 

Drouet  felt  a  scratch  in  his  throat. 

"  Her  beauty,  her  wit,  her  accomplishments,  she  may 
sell  to  you ;  but  her  love  is  the  treasure  without  money  and 
without  price." 

The  manager  suffered  this  as  a  personal  appeal.  It  came 
to  him  as  if  they  were  alone,  and  he  could  hardly  restrain 
the  tears  for  sorrow  over  the  hopeless,  pathetic,  and  yet 
dainty  and  appealing  woman  whom  he  loved.  Drouet 
also  was  beside  himself.  He  was  resolving  that  he  would 
be  to  Carrie  what  he  had  never  been  before.  He  would 
marry  her,  by  George !    She  was  worth  it. 

-  She  asks  only  in  return,"  said  Carrie,  scarcely  hear- 
ing the  small,  scheduled  reply  of  her  lover,  and  putting 
herself  even  more  in  harmony  with  the  plaintive  melody 
now  issuing  from  'the  orchestra,  "  that  when  you  look 
upon  her  your  eyes  shall  speak  devotion ;  that  when  you 
address  her  your  voice  shall  be  gentle,  loving,  and  kind ; 
that  you  shall  not  despise  her  because  she  cannot  under- 
stand all  at  once  your  vigorous  thoughts  and  ambitious 
designs ;  for,  when  misfortune  and  evil  have  defeated 
your  greatest  purposes,  her  love  remains  to  console  you. 
You  look  to  the  trees,"  she  continued,  while  Hurstwood 
restrained  his  feelings  only  by  the  grimmest  repression, 
"  for  strength  and  grandeur ;  do  not  despise  the  flowers 
because  their  fragrance  is  all  they  have  to  give.  Remem- 
ber," she  concluded,  tenderly,  "  love  is  all  a  woman  has  to 
give,"  and  she  laid  a  strange,  sweet  accent  on  the  all, 


SISTER  CARRIE 


209 


"  but  it  is  the  only  thing  which  God  permits  us  to  carry 
beyond  the  grave." 

The  two  men  were  in  the  most  harrowed  state  of  af- 
fection. They  scarcely  heard  the  few  remaining  words 
with  which  the  scene  concluded.  They  only  saw  their 
idol,  moving  about  with  appealing  grace,  continuing  a 
power  which  to  them  was  a  revelation. 

Hurstwood  resolved  a  thousand  things,  Drouet  as  well. 
They  joined  equally  in  the  burst  of  applause  which  called 
Carrie  out.  Drouet  pounded  his  hands  until  they  ached. 
Then  he  jumped  up  again  and  started  out.  As  he  went, 
Carrie  came  out,  and,  seeing  an  immense  basket  of  flowers 
being  hurried  down  the  aisle  toward  her,  she  waited. 
They  were  Hurstwood's.  She  looked  toward  the  man- 
ager's box  for  a  moment,  caught  his  eye,  and  smiled.  He 
could  have  leaped  out  of  the  box  to  enfold  her.  He  forgot 
the  need  of  circumspectness  which  his  married  state  en- 
forced. He  almost  forgot  that  he  had  with  him  in  the  box 
those  who  knew  him.  By  the  Lord,  he  would  have  that 
lovely  girl  if  it  took  his  all.  He  would  act  at  once.  This 
should  be  the  end  of  Drouet,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  He 
would  not  wait  another  day.  The  drummer  should  not 
have  her. 

He  was  so  excited  that  he  could  not  stay  in  the  box. 
He  went  into  the  lobby,  and  then  into  the  street,  thinking. 
Drouet  did  not  return.  In  a  few  minutes  the  last  act 
was  over,  and  he  was  crazy  to  have  Carrie  alone.  He 
cursed  the  luck  that  could  keep  him  smiling,  bowing, 
shamming,  when  he  wanted  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her, 
when  he  wanted  to  whisper  to  her  alone.  He  groaned 
as  he  saw  that  his  hopes  were  futile.  He  must  even  take 
her  to  supper,  shamming.  He  finally  went  about  and 
asked  how  she  was  getting  along.  The  actors  were  all 
dressing,  talking,  hurrying  about.  Drouet  was  palav- 
ering himself  with  the  looseness  of  excitement  and  pas- 
14 


2IO  SISTER  CARRIE 

sion.  The  manager  mastered  himself  only  by  a  great 
effort. 

"  We  are  going  to  supper,  of  course,"  he  said,  with  a 
voice  that  was  a  mockery  of  his  heart. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Carrie,  smiling. 

The  little  actress  was  in  fine  feather.  She  was  realis- 
ing now  what  it  was  to  be  petted.  For  once  she  was  the 
admired,  the  sought-for.  The  independence  of  success 
now  made  its  first  faint  showing.  With  the  tables  turned, 
she  was  looking  down,  rather  than  up,  to  her  lover.  She 
did  not  fully  realise  that  this  was  so,  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  condescension  coming  from  her  which  was  in- 
finitely sweet.  When  she  was  ready  they  climbed  into  the 
waiting  coach  and  drove  down  town ;  once,  only,  did  she 
find  an  opportunity  to  express  her  feeling,  and  that  was 
when  the  manager  preceded  Drouet  in  the  coach  and  sat 
beside  her.  Before  Drouet  was  fully  in  she  had  squeezed 
Hurstwood's  hand  in  a  gentle,  impulsive  manner.  The 
manager  was  beside  himself  with  affection.  He  could 
have  sold  his  soul  to  be  with  her  alone.  "  Ah,"  he 
thought,  "  the  agony  of  it." 

Drouet  hung  on,  thinking  he  was  all  in  all.  The  dinner 
was  spoiled  by  his  enthusiasm.  Hurstwood  went  home 
feeling  as  if  he  should  die  if  he  did  not  find  affectionate  re- 
lief. He  whispered  "  to-morrow  "  passionately  to  Carrie, 
and  she  understood.  He  walked  away  from  the  drummer 
and  his  prize  at  parting  feeling  as  if  he  could  slay  him  and 
not  regret.    Carrie  also  felt  the  misery  of  it. 

■'  Good-night,"  he  said,  simulating  an  easy  friendliness. 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  little  actress,  tenderly. 

"  The  fool !  "  he  said,  now  hating  Drouet.  "  The  idiot ! 
I'll  do  him  yet,  and  that  quick !    We'll  see  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  if  you  aren't  a  wonder,"  Drouet  was  saying, 
complacently,  squeezing  Carrie's  arm.  "  You  are  the 
dandiest  little  girl  on  earth." 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE  LURE  OF  THE  SPIRIT :  THE  FLESH  IN  PURSUIT 

Passion  in  a  man  of  Hurstwood's  nature  takes  a  vig- 
orous form.  It  is  no  musing,  dreamy  thing.  There  is 
none  of  the  tendency  to  sing  outside  of  my  lady's  window 
— to  languish  and  repine  in  the  face  of  difficulties.  In  the 
night  he  was  long  getting  to  sleep  because  of  too  much 
thinking,  and  in  the  morning  he  was  early  awake,  seizing 
with  alacrity  upon  the  same  dear  subject  and  pursuing  it 
with  vigour.  He  was  out  of  sorts  physically,  as  well  as 
disordered  mentally,  for  did  he  not  delight  in  a  new  man- 
ner in  his  Carrie,  and  was  not  Drouet  in  the  way  ?  Never 
was  man  more  harassed  than  he  by  the  thoughts  of  his 
love  being  held  by  the  elated,  flush-mannered  drummer. 
He  would  have  given  anything,  it  seemed  to  him,  to  have 
the  complication  ended — to  have  Carrie  acquiesce  to  an 
arrangement  which  would  dispose  of  Drouet  effectually 
and  forever. 

What  to  do.  He  dressed  thinking.  He  moved  about 
in  the  same  chamber  with  his  wife,  unmindful  of  her 
presence. 

At  breakfast  he  found  himself  without  an  appetite. 
The  meat  to  which  he  helped  himself  remained  on  his 
plate  untouched.  His  coffee  grew  cold,  while  he  scanned 
the  paper  indifferently.  Here  and  there  he  read  a  little 
thing,  but  remembered  nothing.  Jessica  had  not  yet 
come  down.  His  wife  sat  at  one  end  of  the  table  revolv- 
ing thoughts  of  her  own  in  silence.    A  new  servant  had 


212  SISTER  CARRIE 

been  recently  installed  and  had  forgot  the  napkins.  On 
this  account  the  silence  was  irritably  broken  by  a  reproof. 

"  I've  told  you  about  this  before,  Maggie,"  said  Mrs. 
Hurstwood.    "  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  again." 

Hurstwood  took  a  glance  at  his  wife.  She  was  frown- 
ing. Just  now  her  manner  irritated  him  excessively. 
Her  next  remark  was  addressed  to  him. 

"  Have  you  made  up  your  mind,  George,  when  you  will 
take  your  vacation  ?  " 

It  was  customary  for  them  to  discuss  the  regular  sum- 
mer outing  at  this  season  of  the  year. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said,  "  I'm  very  busy  just  now." 

"  Well,  you'll  want  to  make  up  your  mind  pretty  soon, 
won't  you,  if  we're  going?  "  she  returned. 

"  I  guess  we  have  a  few  days  yet,"  he  said. 

"  Hmff,"  she  returned.  "  Don't  wait  until  the  season's 
over." 

She  stirred  in  aggravation  as  she  said  this. 

"  There  you  go  again,"  he  observed.  "  One  would  think 
I  never  did  anything,  the  way  you  begin." 

"  Well,  I  want  to  know  about  it,"  she  reiterated. 

"  You've  got  a  few  days  yet,"  he  insisted.  "  You'll  not 
want  to  start  before  the  races  are  over." 

He  was  irritated  to  think  that  this  should  come  up  when 
he  wished  to  have  his  thoughts  for  other  purposes. 

"  Well,  we  may.  Jessica  doesn't  want  to  stay  until  the 
end  of  the  races." 

"  What  did  you  want  with  a  season  ticket,  then  ?  " 

"  Uh !  "  she  said,  using  the  sound  as  an  exclamation  of 
disgust,  "  I'll  not  argue  with  you,"  and  therewith  arose 
to  leave  the  table. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  rising,  putting  a  note  of,  determination 
in  his  voice  which  caused  her  to  delay  her  departure. 
"  what's  the  matter  with  you  of  late  ?  Can't  I  talk  with  you 
any  more  ?  " 


SISTER  CARRIE 


213 


"  Certainly,  you  can  talk  with  me,"  she  replied,  laying 
emphasis  on  the  word. 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't  think  so  by  the  way  you  act. 
Now,  you  want  to  know  when  I'll  be  ready — not  for  a 
month  yet.    Maybe  not  then." 

"  We'll  go  without  you." 

"  You  will,  eh  ?  "  he  sneered. 

"  Yes,  we  will." 

He  was  astonished  at  the  woman's  determination,  but 
it  only  irritated  him  the  more. 

"  Well,  we'll  see  about  that.  It  seems  to  me  you're  try- 
ing to  run  things  with  a  pretty  high  hand  of  late.  You 
talk  as  though  you  settled  my  affairs  for  me.  Well,  you 
don't.  You  don't  regulate  anything  that's  connected  with 
me.  If  you  want  to  go,  go,  but  you  won't  hurry  me  by  any 
such  talk  as  that." 

He  was  thoroughly  aroused  now.  His  dark  eyes 
snapped,  and  he  crunched  his  paper  as  he  laid  it  down. 
Mrs.  Hurstwood  said  nothing  more.  He  was  just  fin- 
ishing when  she  turned  on  her  heel  and  went  out  into  the 
hall  and  upstairs.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  hesi- 
tating, then  sat  down  and  drank  a  little  coffee,  and  there- 
after arose  and  went  for  his  hat  and  gloves  upon  the  main 
floor. 

His  wife  had  really  not  anticipated  a  row  of  this  char- 
acter. She  had  come  down  to  the  breakfast  table  feeling 
a  little  out  of  sorts  with  herself  and  revolving  a  scheme 
which  she  had  in  her  mind.  Jessica  had  called  her  at- 
tion  to  the  fact  that  the  races  were  not  what  they  were  sup- 
posed to  be.  The  social  opportunities  were  not  what  they 
had  thought  they  would  be  this  year.  The  beautiful  girl 
found  going  every  day  a  dull  thing.  There  was  an  earlier 
exodus  this  year  of  people  who  were  anybody  to  the  water- 
ing places  and  Europe.  In  her  own  circle  of  acquaint- 
ances several  young  men  in  whom  she  was  interested  had 


214  SISTER  CARRIE 

gone  to  Waukesha.  She  began  to  feel  that  she  would  like 
to  go  too,  and  her  mother  agreed  with  her. 

Accordingly,  Mrs.  Hurstwood  decided  to  broach  the 
subject.  She  was  thinking  this  over  when  she  came 
down  to  the  table,  but  for  some  reason  the  atmosphere 
was  wrong.  She  was  not  sure,  after  it  was  all  over,  just 
how  the  trouble  had  begun.  She  was  determined  now, 
however,  that  her  husband  was  a  brute,  and  that,  under  no 
circumstances,  would  she  let  this  go  by  unsettled.  She 
would  have  more  lady-like  treatment  or  she  would 
know  why. 

For  his  part,  the  manager  was  loaded  with  the  care  of 
this  new  argument  until  he  reached  his  office  and  started 
from  there  to  meet  Carrie.  Then  the  other  complications 
of  love,  desire,  and  opposition  possessed  him.  His 
thoughts  fled  on  before  him  upon  eagles'  wings.  He 
could  hardly  wait  until  he  should  meet  Carrie  face  to  face. 
What  was  the  night,  after  all,  without  her — what  the  day  ? 
She  must  and  should  be  his. 

For  her  part,  Carrie  had  experienced  a  world  of  fancy 
and  feeling  since  she  had  left  him,  the  night  before.  She 
had  listened  to  Drouet's  enthusiastic  maunderings  with 
much  regard  for  that  part  which  concerned  herself,  with 
very  little  for  that  which  affected  his  own  gain.  She  kept 
him  at  such  lengths  as  she  could,  because  her  thoughts 
were  with  her  own  triumph.  She  felt  Hurstwood's  pas- 
sion as  a  delightful  background  to  her  own  achievement, 
and  she  wondered  what  he  would  have  to  say.  She  was 
sorry  for  him,  too,  with  that  peculiar  sorrow  which  finds 
something  complimentary  to  itself  in  the  misery  of  an- 
other. She  was  now  experiencing  the  first  shades  of  feel- 
ing of  that  subtle  change  which  removes  one  out  of  the 
ranks  of  the  suppliants  into  the  lines  of  the  dispensers  of 
charity.    She  was,  all  in  all,  exceedingly  happy. 

On  the  morrow,  however,  there  was  nothing  in  the 


SISTER  CARRIE  21 5 

papers  concerning  the  event,  and,  in  view  of  the  flow  of 
common,  everyday  things  about,  it  now  lost  a  shade  of  the 
glow  of  the  previous  evening.  Drouet  himself  was  not 
talking  so  much  of  as  for  her.  He  felt  instinctively  that, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  he  needed  reconstruction  in 
her  regard. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  as  he  spruced  around  their  chambers 
the  next  morning,  preparatory  to  going  down  town, 
"  that  I'll  straighten  out  that  little  deal  of  mine  this  month 
and  then  we'll  get  married.  I  was  talking  with  Mosher 
about  that  yesterday." 

'*  No,  you  won't,"  said  Carrie,  who  was  coming  to  feel 
a  certain  faint  power  to  jest  with  the  drummer. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  he  exclaimed,  more  feelingly  than  usual, 
adding,  with  the  tone  of  one  who  pleads,  "  Don't  you  be- 
lieve what  I've  told  you  ?  " 

Carrie  laughed  a  little. 

"  Of  cour&e  I  do,"  she  answered. 

Drouet's  assurance  now  misgave  him.  Shallow  as  was 
his  mental  observation,  there  was  that  in  the  things  which 
had  happened  which  made  his  little  power  of  analysis  use- 
less. Carrie  was  still  with  him,  but  not  helpless  and 
pleading.  There  was  a  lilt  in  her  voice  which  was  new. 
She  did  not  study  him  with  eyes  expressive  of  dependence. 
The  drummer  was  feeling  the  shadow  of  something  which 
was  coming.  It  coloured  his  feelings  and  made  him  de- 
velop those  little  attentions  and  say  those  little  words 
which  were  mere  forefendations  against  danger. 

Shortly  afterward  he  departed,  and  Carrie  prepared  for 
her  meeting  with  Hurstwood.  She  hurried  at  her  toilet, 
which  was  soon  made,  and  hastened  down  the  stairs. 
At  the  corner  she  passed  Drouet,  but  they  did  not  see 
each  other. 

The  drummer  had  forgotten  some  bills  which  he  wished 
to  turn  into  his  house.     He  hastened  up  the  stairs  and 


2i6  SISTER  CARRIE 

burst  into  the  room,  but  found  only  the  chambermaid, 
who  was  cleaning  up. 

"  Hello,"  he  exclaimed,  half  to  himself,  "  has  Carrie 
gone  ?  " 

"Your  wife?  Yes,  she  went  out  just  a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"  That's  strange,"  thought  Drouet.  "  She  didn't  say  a 
word  to  me.    I  wonder  where  she  went  ?  " 

He  hastened  about,  rummaging  in  his  valise  for  what  he 
wanted,  and  finally  pocketing  it.  Then  he  turned  his 
attention  to  his  fair  neighbour,  who  was  good-looking 
and  kindly  disposed  towards  him. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  ?  "  he  said,  smiling. 

"  Just  cleaning,"  she  replied,  stopping  and  winding  a 
dusting  towel  about  her  hand. 

"Tired  of  it?" 

"  Not  so  very." 

"  Let  me  show  you  something,"  he  said,  affably,  coming 
over  and  taking  out  of  his  pocket  a  little  lithographed 
card  which  had  been  issued  by  a  wholesale  tobacco  com- 
pany. On  this  was  printed  a  picture  of  a  pretty  girl,  hold- 
ing a  striped  parasol,  the  colours  of  which  could  be 
changed  by  means  of  a  revolving  disk  in  the  back,  which 
showed  red,  yellow,  green,  and  blue  through  little  inter- 
stices made  in  the  ground  occupied  by  the  umbrella 
top. 

"  Isn't  that  clever  ?  "  he  said,  handing  it  to  her  and 
showing  her  how  it  worked.  "  You  never  saw  anything 
like  that  before." 

"  Isn't  it  nice?  "  she  answered. 

"  You  can  have  it  if  you  want  it,"  he  remarked. 

"  That's  a  pretty  ring  you  have,"  he  said,  touching  a 
commonplace  setting  which  adorned  the  hand  holding  the 
card  he  had  given  her. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 


SISTER  CARRIE  217 

"  That's  right,"  he  answered,  making  use  of  a  pretence 
at  examination  to  secure  her  finger.    "  That's  fine." 

The  ice  being  thus  broken,  he  launched  into  further  ob- 
servation, pretending  to  forget  that  her  fingers  were  still 
retained  by  his.  She  soon  withdrew  them,  however,  and 
retreated  a  few  feet  to  rest  against  the  window-sill. 

"  I  didn't  see  you  for  a  long  time,"  she  said,  coquet- 
tishly,  repulsing  one  of  his  exuberant  approaches.  "  You 
must  have  been  away." 

"  I  was,"  said  Drouet. 

"  Do  you  travel  far  ?  " 

"  Pretty  far— yes." 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"  Oh,  not  very  well.    You  get  tired  of  it  after  a  while." 

"  I  wish  I  could  travel,"  said  the  girl,  gazing  idly  out 
of  the  window. 

"  What  has  become  of  your  friend,  Mr.  Hurstwood  ?  " 
she  suddenly  asked,  bethinking  herself  of  the  manager, 
who,  from  her  own  observation,  seemed  to  contain  prom- 
ising material. 

"  He's  here  in  town.  What  makes  you  ask  about  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  only  he  hasn't  been  here  since  you  got 
back." 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  him  ?  " 

"  Didn't  I  take  up  his  name  a  dozen  times  in  the  last 
month  ?  " 

11  Get  out,"  said  the  drummer,  lightly.  "  He  hasn't 
called  more  than  half  a  dozen  times  since  we've  been 
here." 

"  He  hasn't,  eh  ?  "  said  the  girl,  smiling.  "  That's  all 
you  know  about  it." 

Drouet  took  on  a  slightly  more  serious  tone.  He  was 
uncertain  as  to  whether  she  was  joking  or  not. 

"  Tease,"  he  said,  "  what  makes  you  smile  that  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing." 


218  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Have  you  seen  him  recently  ?  " 

"  Not  since  you  came  back,"  she  laughed. 

"Before?" 

"  Certainly." 

"How  often?" 

"  Why,  nearly  every  day." 

She  was  a  mischievous  newsmonger,  and  was  keenly 
wondering  what  the  effect  of  her  words  would  be. 

"  Who  did  he  come  to  see  ?  "  asked  the  drummer,  in- 
credulously. 

"  Mrs.  Drouet." 

He  looked  rather  foolish  at  this  answer,  and  then  at- 
tempted to  correct  himself  so  as  not  to  appear  a  dupe. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  what  of  it?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  girl,  her  head  cocked  coquet- 
tishly  on  one  side. 

"  He's  an  old  friend,"  he  went  on,  getting  deeper  into 
the  mire. 

He  would  have  gone  on  further  with  his  little  flirtation, 
but  the  taste  for  it  was  temporarily  removed.  He  was 
quite  relieved  when  the  girl's  name  was  called  from 
below. 

"  I've  got  to  go,"  she  said,  moving  away  from  him 
airily. 

"  I'll  see  you  later,"  he  said,  with  a  pretence  of  dis- 
turbance at  being  interrupted. 

When  she  was  gone,  he  gave  freer  play  to  his  feelings. 
His  face,  never  easily  controlled  by  him,  expressed  all 
the  perplexity  and  disturbance  which  he  felt.  Could  it  be 
that  Carrie  had  received  so  many  visits  and  yet  said  noth- 
ing about  them?  Was  Hurstwood  lying?  What  did 
the  chambermaid  mean  by  it,  anyway?  He  had  thought 
there  was  something  odd  about  Carrie's  manner  at  the 
time.  Why  did  she  look  so  disturbed  when  he  had  asked 
her  how  many  times  Hurstwood  had  called  ?    By  George ! 


SISTER  CARRIE 


219 


he  remembered  now.  There  was  something  strange  about 
the  whole  thing. 

He  sat  down  in  a  rocking-chair  to  think  the  better, 
drawing  up  one  leg  on  his  knee  and  frowning  mightily. 
His  mind  ran  on  at  a  great  rate. 

And  yet  Carrie  hadn't  acted  out  of  the  ordinary.  It 
couldn't  be,  by  George,  that  she  was  deceiving  him. 
She  hadn't  acted  that  way.  Why,  even  last  night  she  had 
been  as  friendly  toward  him  as  could  be,  and  Hurstwood 
too.  Look  how  they  acted !  He  could  hardly  believe 
they  would  try  to  deceive  him. 

His  thoughts  burst  into  words. 

"  She  did  act  sort  of  funny  at  times.  Here  she  had 
dressed  and  gone  out  this  morning  and  never  said  a 
word." 

He  scratched  his  head  and  prepared  to  go  down  town. 
He  was  still  frowning.  As  he  came  into  the  hall  he  en- 
countered the  girl,  who  was  now  looking  after  another 
chamber.  She  had  on  a  white  dusting  cap,  beneath  which 
her  chubby  face  shone  good-naturedly.  Drouet  almost 
forgot  his  worry  in  the  fact  that  she  was  smiling  on  him. 
His  put  his  hand  familiarly  on  her  shoulder,  as  if  only  to 
greet  her  in  passing. 

"  Got  over  being  mad  ?  "  she  said,  still  mischievously 
inclined. 

"  I'm' not  mad,"  he  answered. 

"  I  thought  you  were,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  Quit  your  fooling  about  that,"  he  said,  in  an  offhand 
way.    "  Were  you  serious  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered.  Then,  with  an  air  of  one 
who  did  not  intentionally  mean  to  create  trouble,  "  He 
came  lots  of  times.    I  thought  you  knew." 

The  game  of  deception  was  up  with  Drouet.  He  did 
not  try  to  simulate  indifference  further. 

"  Did  he  spend  the  evenings  here  ?  "  he  asked. 


220  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Sometimes.    Sometimes  they  went  out." 

"  In  the  evening  ?  " 

((  Yes.    You  mustn't  look  so  mad,  though." 

"  I'm  not,"  he  said.    "  Did  any  one  else  see  him  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  girl,  as  if,  after  all,  it  were  noth- 
ing in  particular. 

"  How  long  ago  was  this  ?  " 

"  Just  before  you  came  back." 

The  drummer  pinched  his  lip  nervously. 

"  Don't  say  anything,  will  you  ?  "  he  asked,  giving  the 
girl's  arm  a  gentle  squeeze. 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  returned.  "  I  wouldn't  worry 
over  it." 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  passing  on,  seriously  brooding  for 
once,  and  yet  not  wholly  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  making  a  most  excellent  impression  upon  the  cham- 
bermaid. 

"  I'll  see  her  about  that,"  he  said  to  himself,  passionately, 
feeling  that  he  had  been  unduly  wronged.  "  I'll  find  out, 
b'George,  whether  she'll  act  that  way  or  not." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  LURE  OF  THE  SPIRIT  :  THE  FLESH  IN  PURSUIT 

When  Carrie  came  Hurstwood  had  been  waiting  many- 
minutes.  His  blood  was  warm ;  his  nerves  wrought  up. 
He  was  anxious  to  see  the  woman  who  had  stirred  him  so 
profoundly  the  night  before. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said,  repressedly,  feeling  a  spring 
in  his  limbs  and  an  elation  which  was  tragic  in  itself. 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie. 

They  walked  on  as  if  bound  for  some  objective  point, 
while  Hurstwood  drank  in  the  radiance  of  her  presence. 
The  rustle  of  her  pretty  skirt  was  like  music  to  him. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  ?  "  he  asked,  thinking  of  how  well 
she  did  the  night  before. 

"Are  you?" 

He  tightened  his  fingers  as  he  saw  the  smile  she  gave 
him. 

"  It  was  wonderful." 

Carrie  laughed  ecstatically. 

"  That  was  one  of  the  best  things  I've  seen  in  a  long 
time,"  he  added. 

He  was  dwelling  on  her  attractiveness  as  he  had  felt 
it  the  evening  before,  and  mingling  it  with  the  feeling  her 
presence  inspired  now. 

Carrie  was  dwelling  in  the  atmosphere  which  this  man 
created  for  her.  Already  she  was  enlivened  and  suffused 
with  a  glow.  She  felt  his  drawing  toward  her  in  every 
sound  of  his  voice. 


222  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Those  were  such  nice  flowers  you  sent  me,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment  or  two.    "  They  were  beautiful." 

"  Glad  you  liked  them,"  he  answered,  simply. 

He  was  thinking  all  the  time  that  the  subject  of  his  de- 
sire was  being  delayed.  He  was  anxious  to  turn  the  talk 
to  his  own  feelings.  All  was  ripe  for  it.  His  Carrie  was 
beside  him.  He  wanted  to  plunge  in  and  expostulate  with 
her,  and  yet  he  found  himself  fishing  for  words  and  feeling 
for  a  way. 

"  You  got  home  all  right,"  he  said,  gloomily,  of  a  sud- 
den, his  tone  modifying  itself  to  one  of  self-commisera- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie,  easily. 

He  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment,  slowing  his 
pace  and  fixing  her  with  his  eye. 

She  felt  the  flood  of  feeling. 

"  How  about  me?  "  he  asked. 

This  confused  Carrie  considerably,  for  she  realised  the 
floodgates  were  open.  She  didn't  know  exactly  what  to 
answer. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered. 

He  took  his  lower  lip  between  his  teeth  for  a  moment, 
and  then  let  it  go.  He  stopped  by  the  walk  side  and  kicked 
the  grass  with  his  toe.  He  searched  her  face  with  a 
tender,  appealing  glance. 

"  Won't  you  come  away  from  him  ?  "  he  asked,  in- 
tensely. 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  Carrie,  still  illogically  drift- 
ing and  finding  nothing  at  which  to  catch. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  in  a  most  hopeless  quan- 
dary. Here  was  a  man  whom  she  thoroughly  liked,  who 
exercised  an  influence  over  her,  sufficient  almost  to  delude 
her  into  the  belief  that  she  was  possessed  of  a  lively  passion 
for  him.  She  was  still  the  victim  of  his  keen  eyes,  his 
suave  manners,  his  fine  clothes.    She  looked  and  saw  be- 


SISTER  CARRIE  223 

fore  her  a  man  who  was  most  gracious  and  sympathetic, 
who  leaned  toward  her  with  a  feeling  that  was  a  delight 
to  observe.  She  could  not  resist  the  glow  of  his  tempera- 
ment, the  light  of  his  eye.  She  could  hardly  keep  from 
feeling  what  he  felt. 

And  yet  she  was  not  without  thoughts  which  were  dis- 
turbing. What  did  he  know?  What  had  Drouet  told 
him?  Was  she  a  wife  in  his  eyes,  or  what?  Would  he 
marry  her  ?  Even  while  he  talked,  and  she  softened,  and 
her  eyes  were  lighted  with  a  tender  glow,  she  was  asking 
herself  if  Drouet  had  told  him  they  were  not  married. 
There  was  never  anything  at  all  convincing  about  what 
Drouet  said. 

And  yet  she  was  not  grieved  at  Hurstwood's  love.  No 
strain  of  bitterness  was  in  it  for  her,  whatever  he  knew. 
He  was  evidently  sincere.  His  passion  was  real  and 
warm.  There  was  power  in  what  he  said.  What  should 
she  do?  She  went  on  thinking  this,  answering  vaguely, 
languishing  affectionately,  and  altogether  drifting,  until 
she  was  on  a  borderless  sea  of  speculation. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  away  ?  "  he  said,  tenderly.  "  I 
will  arrange  for  you  whatever — " 

"  Oh,  don't,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Don't  what?  "  he  asked.    "  What  do  you  mean?  " 

There  was  a  look  of  confusion  and  pain  in  her  face.  She 
was  wondering  why  that  miserable  thought  must  be 
brought  in.  She  was  struck  as  by  a  blade  with  the  mis- 
erable provision  which  was  outside  the  pale  of  marriage. 

He  himself  realised  that  it  was  a  wretched  thing  to  have 
dragged  in.  He  wanted  to  weigh  the  effects  of  it,  and  yet 
he  could  not  see.  He  went  beating  on,  flushed  by  her 
presence,  clearly  awakened,  intensely  enlisted  in  his  plan. 

"  Won't  you  come  ?  "  he  said,  beginning  over  and  with 
a  more  reverent  feeling.  "  You  know  I  can't  do  without 
you — you  know  it — it  can't  go  on  this  way — can  it  ?  " 


224  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I  know,"  said  Carrie. 

"  I  wouldn't  ask  if  I — I  wouldn't  argue  with  you  if  I 
could  help  it.  Look  at  me,  Carrie.  Put  yourself  in  my 
place.    You  don't  want  to  stay  away  from  me,  do  you  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  as  if  in  deep  thought. 

"  Then  why  not  settle  the  whole  thing,  once  and  for 
all?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Don't  know !  Ah,  Carrie,  what  makes  you  say  that  ? 
Don't  torment  me.    Be  serious." 

"  I  am,"  said  Carrie,  softly. 

"  You  can't  be,  dearest,  and  say  that.  Not  when  you 
know  how  I  love  you.    Look  at  last  night." 

His  manner  as  he  said  this  was  the  most  quiet  imagi- 
nable. His  face  and  body  retained  utter  composure.  Only 
his  eyes  moved,  and  they  flashed  a  subtle,  dissolving  fire. 
In  them  the  whole  intensity  of  the  man's  nature  was  dis- 
tilling itself. 

Carrie  made  no  answer. 

"  How  can  you  act  this  way,  dearest  ?  "  he  inquired, 
after  a  time.    "  You  love  me,  don't  you  ?  " 

He  turned  on  her  such  a  storm  of  feeling  that  she  was 
overwhelmed.  For  the  moment  all  doubts  were  cleared 
away. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  frankly  and  tenderly. 

"  Well,  then  you'll  come,  won't  you — come  to-night?  " 

Carrie  shook  her  head  in  spite  of  her  distress. 

"  I  can't  wait  any  longer,"  urged  Hurstwood.  "  If 
that  is  too  soon,  come  Saturday." 

"  When  will  we  be  married  ?  "  she  asked,  diffidently, 
forgetting  in  her  difficult  situation  that  she  had  hoped  he 
took  her  to  be  Drouet's  wife. 

The  manager  started,  hit  as  he  was  by  a  problem 
which  was  more  difficult  than  hers.  He  gave  no  sign  of 
the  thoughts  that  flashed  like  messages  to  his  mind. 


SISTER  CARRIE  225 

"  Any  time  you  say,"  he  said,  with  ease,  refusing  to 
discolour  his  present  delight  with  this  miserable  problem. 

"  Saturday?  "  asked  Carrie. 

He  nodded  his  head. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  marry  me  then,"  she  said,  "  I'll 
go." 

The  manager  looked  at  his  lovely  prize,  so  beautiful,  so 
winsome,  so  difficult  to  be  won,  and  made  strange  resolu- 
tions. His  passion  had  gotten  to  that  stage  now  where  it 
was  no  longer  coloured  with  reason.  He  did  not  trouble 
over  little  barriers  of  this  sort  in  the  face  of  so  much  love- 
liness. He  would  accept  the  situation  with  all  its  diffi- 
culties; he  would  not  try  to  answer  the  objections  which 
cold  truth  thrust  upon  him.  He  would  promise  any- 
thing, everything,  and  trust  to  fortune  to  disentangle  him. 
He  would  make  a  try  for  Paradise,  whatever  might  be  the 
result.  He  would  be  happy,  by  the  Lord,  if  it  cost  all 
honesty  of  statement,  all  abandonment  of  truth. 

(Sarrie  looked  at  him  tenderly.  She  could  have  laid 
her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  so  delightful  did  it  all  seem. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I'll  try  and  get  ready  then." 

Hurstwood  looked  into  her  pretty  face,  crossed  with 
little  shadows  of  wonder  and  misgiving,  and  thought  he 
had  never  seen  anything  more  lovely. 

"  I'll  see  you  again  to-morrow,"  he  said,  joyously,  "  and 
we'll  talk  over  the  plans." 

He  walked  on  with  her,  elated  beyond  words,  so  de- 
lightful had  been  the  result.  He  impressed  a  long  story 
of  joy  and  affection  upon  her,  though  there  was  but  here 
and  there  a  word.  After  a  half-hour  he  began  to  realise 
that  the  meeting  must  come  to  an  end,  so  exacting  is 
the  world. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said  at  parting,  a  gayety  of  manner 
adding  wonderfully  to  his  brave  demeanour. 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie,  tripping  elatedly  away. 
15 


226  ■  SISTER  CARRIE 

There  had  been  so  much  enthusiasm  engendered  that 
she  was  believing  herself  deeply  in  love.  She  sighed  as 
she  thought  of  her  handsome  adorer.  Yes,  she  would 
get  ready  by  Saturday.  She  would  go,  and  they  would 
be  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  BLAZE  OF  THE  TINDER:  FLESH  WARS  WITH  THE  FLESH 

The  misfortune  of  the  Hurstwood  household  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  jealousy,  having  been  born  of  love,  did  not 
perish  with  it.  Mrs.  Hurstwood  retained  this  in  such  form 
that  subsequent  influences  could  transform  it  into  hate. 
Hurstwood  was  still  worthy,  in  a  physical  sense,  of  the 
affection  his  wife  had  once  bestowed  upon  him,  but  in  a 
social  sense  he  fell  short.  With  his  regard  died  his  power 
to  be  attentive  to  her,  and  this,  to  a  woman,  is  much 
greater  than  outright  crime  toward  another.  Our  self- 
love  dictates  our  appreciation  of  the  good  or  evil  in 
another.  In  Mrs.  Hurstwood  it  discoloured  the  very  hue 
of  her  husband's  indifferent  nature.  She  saw  design  in 
deeds  and  phrases  which  sprung  only  from  a  faded  ap- 
preciation of  her  presence. 

As  a  consequence,  she  was  resentful  and  suspicious. 
The  jealousy  that  prompted  her  to  observe  every  falling 
away  from  the  little  amenities  of  the  married  relation  on 
his  part  served  to  give  her  notice  of  the  airy  grace  with 
which  he  still  took  the  world.  She  could  see  from  the 
scrupulous  care  which  he  exercised  in  the  matter  of  his 
personal  appearance  that  his  interest  in  life  had  abated  not 
a  jot.  Every  motion,  every  glance  had  something  in  it  of 
the  pleasure  he  felt  in  Carrie,  of  the  zest  this  new  pursuit 
of  pleasure  lent  to  his  days.  Mrs.  Hurstwood  felt  some- 
thing, sniffing  change,  as  animals  do  danger,  afar  off. 

This  feeling  was  strengthened  by  actions  of  a  direct 
and  more  potent  nature  on  the  part  of  Hurstwood.    We 


228  SISTER  CARRIE 

have  seen  with  what  irritation  he  shirked  those  little  duties 
which  no  longer  contained  any  amusement  or  satisfaction 
for  him,  and  the  open  snarls  with  which,  more  recently, 
he  resented  her  irritating  goads.  These  little  rows  were 
really  precipitated  by  an  atmosphere  which  was  sur- 
charged with  dissension.  That  it  would  shower,  with  a 
sky  so  full  of  blackening  thunder-clouds,  would  scarcely 
be  thought  worthy  of  comment.  Thus,  after  leaving  the 
breakfast  table  this  morning,  raging  inwardly  at  his  blank 
declaration  of  indifference  at  her  plans,  Mrs.  Hurstwood 
encountered  Jessica  in  her  dressing-room,  very  leisurely 
arranging  her  hair.  Hurstwood  had  already  left  the 
house. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  late  coming  down  to  break- 
fast," she  said,  addressing  Jessica,  while  making  for  her 
crochet  basket.  "  Now  here  the  things  are  quite  cold, 
and  you  haven't  eaten." 

Her  natural  composure  was  sadly  ruffled,  and  Jessica 
was  doomed  to  feel  the  fag  end  of  the  storm. 

"  I'm  not  hungry,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  say  so,  and  let^the  girl  put  away 
the  things,  instead  of  keeping  her  waiting  all  morning?  " 

"  She  doesn't  mind,"  answered  Jessica,  coolly. 

"  Well,  I  do,  if  she  doesn't,"  returned  the  mother,  "  and, 
anyhow,  I  don't  like  you  to  talk  that  way  to  me.  You're 
too  young  to  put  on  such  an  air  with  your  mother." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  don't  row,"  answered  Jessica.  "  What's 
the  matter  this  morning,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Nothing's  the  matter,  and  I'm  not  rowing.  You 
mustn't  think  because  I  indulge  you  in  some  things  that 
you  can  keep  everybody  waiting.     I  won't  have  it." 

"  I'm  not  keeping  anybody  waiting,"  returned  Jessica, 
sharply,  stirred  out  of  a  cynical  indifference  to  a  sharp 
defence.  "  I  said  I  wasn't  hungry.  I  don't  want  any 
breakfast." 


SISTER  CARRIE 


229 


"  Mind  how  you  address  me,  missy.  I'll  not  have  it. 
Hear  me  now;  I'll  not  have  it!  " 

Jessica  heard  this  last  while  walking  out  of  the  room, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head  and  a  flick  of  her  pretty  skirts  in- 
dicative of  the  independence  and  indifference  she  felt. 
She  did  not  propose  to  be  quarrelled  with. 

Such  little  arguments  were  all  too  frequent,  the  result 
of  a  growth  of  natures  which  were  largely  independent 
and  selfish.  George,  Jr.,  manifested  even  greater  touchi- 
ness and  exaggeration  in  the  matter  of  his  individual 
rights,  and  attempted  to  make  all  feel  that  he  was  a  man 
with  a  man's  privileges — an  assumption  which,  of  all 
things,  is  most  groundless  and  pointless  in  a  youth  of 
nineteen. 

Hurstwood  was  a  man  of  authority  and  some  fine  feel- 
ing, and  it  irritated  him  excessively  to  find  himself  sur- 
rounded more  and  more  by  a  world  upon  which  he  had 
no  hold,  and  of  which  he  had  a  lessening  understanding. 

Now,  when  such  little  things,  such  as  the.  proposed 
earlier  start  to  Waukesha,  came  up,  they  made  clear  to 
him  his  position.  He  was  being  made  to  follow,  was  not 
leading.  When,  in  addition,  a  sharp  temper  was  mani- 
fested, and  to  the  process  of  shouldering  him  out  of 
his  authority  was  added  a  rousing  intellectual  kick, 
such  as  a  sneer  or  a  cynical  laugh,  he  was  unable  to  keep 
his  temper.  He  flew  into  hardly  repressed  passion,  and 
wished  himself  clear  of  the  whole  household.  It  seemed  a 
most  irritating  drag  upon  all  his  desires  and  opportunities. 

For  all  this,  he  still  retained  the  semblance  of  leader- 
ship and  control,  even  though  his  wife  was  straining  to 
revolt.  Her  display  of  temper  and  open  assertion  of  op- 
position were  based  upon  nothing  more  than  the  feeling 
that  she  could  do  it.  She  had  no  special  evidence  where- 
with to  justify  herself — the  knowledge  of  something  which 
would  give  her  both  authority  and  excuse.    The  latter  was 


230  SISTER  CARRIE 

all  that  was  lacking,  however,  to  give  a  solid  foundation 
to  what,  in  a  way,  seemed  groundless  discontent.  The 
clear  proof  of  one  overt  deed  was  the  cold  breath  needed 
to  convert  the  lowering  clouds  of  suspicion  into  a  rain  of 
wrath. 

An  inkling  of  untoward  deeds  on  the  part  of  Hurst- 
wood  had  come.  Doctor  Beale,  the  handsome  resident 
physician  of  the  neighbourhood,  met  Mrs.  Hurstwood  at 
her  own  doorstep  some  days  after  Hurstwood  and  Carrie 
had  taken  the  drive  west  on  Washington  Boulevard.  Dr. 
Beale,  coming  east  on  the  same  drive,  had  recognised 
Hurstwood,  but  not  before  he  was  quite  past  him.  He 
was  not  so  sure  of  Carrie — did  not  know  whether  it  was 
Hurstwood's  wife  or  daughter. 

"  You  don't  speak  to  your  friends  when  you  meet  them 
out  driving,  do  you  ?  "  he  said,  jocosely,  to  Mrs.  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  If  I  see  them,  I  do.    Where  was  I  ?  " 

"  On  Washington  Boulevard,"  he  answered,  expecting 
her  eye  to  light  with  immediate  remembrance. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Yes,  out  near  Hoyne  Avenue.  You  were  with  your 
husband." 

"  I  guess  you're  mistaken,"  she  answered.  Then,  re- 
membering her  husband's  part  in  the  affair,  she  immedi- 
ately fell  a  prey  to  a  host  of  young  suspicions,  of  which, 
however,  she  gave  no  sign. 

"  I  know  I  saw  your  husband,"  he  went  on.  "  I  wasn't 
so  sure  about  you.    Perhaps  it  was  your  daughter." 

"  Perhaps  it  was,"  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood,  knowing  full 
well  that  such  was  not  the  case,  as  Jessica  had  been  her 
companion  for  weeks.  She  had  recovered  herself  suf- 
ficiently to  wish  to  know  more  of  the  details. 

"  Was  it  in  the  afternoon  ?  "  she  asked,  artfully,  assum- 
ing an  air  of  acquaintanceship  with  the  matter. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


231 


"  Yes,  about  two  or  three." 

"  It  must  have  been  Jessica,"  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood,  not 
wishing  to  seem  to  attach  any  importance  to  the  incident. 

The  physician  had  a  thought  or  two  of  his  own,  but 
dismissed  the  matter  as  worthy  of  no  further  discussion 
on  his  part  at  least. 

Mrs.  Hurstwood  gave  this  bit  of  information  consider- 
able thought  during  the  next  few  hours,  and  even  days. 
She  took  it  for  granted  that  the  doctor  had  really  seen  her 
husband,  and  that  he  had  been  riding,  most  likely,  with 
some  other  woman,  after  announcing  himself  as  busy  to 
her.  As  a  consequence,  she  recalled,  with  rising  feeling, 
how  often  he  had  refused  to  go  to  places  with  her,  to  share 
in  little  visits,  or,  indeed,  take  part  in  any  of  the  social 
amenities  which  furnished  the  diversion  of  her  existence. 
He  had  been  seen  at  the  theatre  with  people  whom  he 
called  Moy's  friends  ;  now  he  was  seen  driving,  and,  most 
likely,  would  have  an  excuse  for  that.  Perhaps  there 
were  others  of  whom  she  did  not  hear,  or  why  should  he 
be  so  busy,  so  indifferent,  of  late?  In  the  last  six  weeks 
he  had  become  strangely  irritable — strangely  satisfied  to 
pick  up  and  go  out,  whether  things  were  right  or  wrong 
in  the  house.    Why  ? 

She  recalled,  with  more  subtle  emotions,  that  he  did  not 
look  at  her  now  with  any  of  the  old  light  of  satisfaction  or 
approval  in  his  eye.  Evidently,  along  with  other  things, 
he  was  taking  her  to  be  getting  old  and  uninteresting. 
He  saw  her  wrinkles,  perhaps.  She  was  fading,  while  he 
was  still  preening  himself  in  his  elegance  and  youth.  He 
was  still  an  interested  factor  in  the  merry-makings  of  the 
world,  while  she — but  she  did  not  pursue  the  thought. 
She  only  found  the  whole  situation  bitter,  and  hated  him 
for  it  thoroughly. 

Nothing  came  of  this  incident  at  the  time,  for  the  truth 
is  it  did  not  seem  conclusive  enough  to  warrant  any  dis- 


232  SISTER  CARRIE 

cussion.  Only  the  atmosphere  of  distrust  and  ill-feeling 
was  strengthened,  precipitating  every  now  and  then 
little  sprinklings  of  irritable  conversation,  enlivened  by 
flashes  of  wrath.  The  matter  of  the  Waukesha  outing  was 
merely  a  continuation  of  other  things  of  the  same  nature. 

The  day  after  Carrie's  appearance  on  the  Avery  stage, 
Mrs.  Hurstwood  visited  the  races  with  Jessica  and  a  youth 
of  her  acquaintance,  Mr.  Bart  Taylor,  the  son  of  the  owner 
of  a  local  house-furnishing  establishment.  They  had 
driven  out  early,  and,  as  it  chanced,  encountered  several 
friends  of  Hurstwood,  all  Elks,  and  two  of  whom  had  at- 
tended the  performance  the  evening  before.  A  thousand 
chances  the  subject  of  the  performance  had  never  been 
brought  up  had  Jessica  not  been  so  engaged  by  the  atten- 
tions of  her  young  companion,  who  usurped  as  much  time 
as  possible.  This  left  Mrs.  Hurstwood  in  the  mood  to 
extend  the  perfunctory  greetings  of  some  who  knew  her 
into  short  conversations,  and  the  short  conversations  of 
friends  into  long  ones.  It  was  from  one  who  meant  but 
to  greet  her  perfunctorily  that  this  interesting  intelligence 
came. 

"  I  see,"  said  this  individual,  who  wore  sporting  clothes 
of  the  most  attractive  pattern,  and  had  a  field-glass  strung 
over  his  shoulder,  "  that  you  did  not  get  over  to  our  little 
entertainment  last  evening." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood,  inquiringly,  and  wonder- 
ing why  he  should  be  using  the  tone  he  did  in  noting  the 
fact  that  she  had  not  been  to  something  she  knew  nothing 
about.  It  was  on  her  lips  to  say,  "  What  was  it  ?  "  when  he 
added,  "  I  saw  your  husband." 

Her  wonder  was  at  once  replaced  by  the  more  subtle 
quality  of  suspicion. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  cautiously,  "  was  it  pleasant  ?  He  did 
not  tell  me  much  about  it." 

"  Very.     Really  one  of  the  best  private  theatricals  I 


SISTER  CARRIE  233 

ever  attended.    There  was  one  actress  who  surprised  us 
all." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Hurstwood. 

"  It's  too  bad  you  couldn't  have  been  there,  really.  I 
was  sorry  to  hear  you  weren't  feeling  well." 

Feeling  well !  Mrs.  Hurstwood  could  have  echoed  the 
words  after  him  open-mouthed.  As  it  was,  she  extricated 
herself  from  her  mingled  impulse  to  deny  and  question, 
and  said,  almost  raspingly : 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  bad." 
•  "  Looks  like  there  will  be  quite  a  crowd  here  to-day, 
doesn't  it?  "  the  acquaintance  observed,  drifting  off  upon 
another  topic. 

The  manager's  wife  would  have  questioned  farther, 
but  she  saw  no  opportunity.  She  was  for  the  moment 
wholly  at  sea,  anxious  to  think  for  herself,  and  wondering 
what  new  deception  was  this  which  caused  him  to  give 
out  that  she  was  ill  when  she  was  not.  Another  case  of  her 
company  not  wanted,  and  excuses  being  made.  She  re- 
solved to  find  out  more. 

"Were  you  at  the  performance  last  evening?"  she 
asked  of  the  next  of  Hurstwood's  friends  who  greeted  her, 
as  she  sat  in  her  box. 

"  Yes.    You  didn't  get  around." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  was  not  feeling  very  well." 

"  So  your  husband  told  me,"  he  answered.  "  Well,  it 
was  really  very  enjoyable.  Turned  out  much  better  than  I 
expected." 

"  Were  there  many  there  ?  " 

"  The  house  Was  full.  It  was  quite  an  Elk  night.  I 
saw  quite  a  number  of  your  friends — Mrs.  Harrison,  Mrs. 
Barnes,  Mrs.  Collins." 

"  Quite  a  social  gathering." 

"  Indeed  it  was.    My  wife  enjoyed  it  very  much." 

Mrs.  Hurstwood  bit  her  lip. 


234  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  So,"  she  thought,  "  that's  the  way  he  does.  Tells 
my  friends  I  am  sick  and  cannot  come." 

She  wondered  what  could  induce  him  to  go  alone. 
There  was  something  back  of  this.  She  rummaged  her 
brain  for  a  reason. 

By  evening,  when  Hurstwood  reached  home,  she  had 
brooded  herself  into  a  state  of  sullen  desire  for  explanation 
and  revenge.  She  wanted  to  know  what  this  peculiar  ac- 
tion of  his  imported.  She  was  certain  there  was  more 
behind  it  all  than  what  she  had  heard,  and  evil  curiosity 
mingled  well  with  distrust  and  the  remnants  of  her  wrath 
of  the  morning.  She,  impending  disaster  itself,  walked 
about  with  gathered  shadow  at  the  eyes  and  the  rudi- 
mentary muscles  of  savagery  fixing  the  hard  lines  of  her 
mouth. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  we  may  well  believe,  the  man- 
ager came  home  in  the  sunniest  mood.  His  conversa- 
tion and  agreement  with  Carrie  had  raised  his  spirits  until 
he  was  in  the  frame  of  mind  of  one  who  sings  joyously. 
He  was  proud  of  himself,  proud  of  his  success,  proud  of 
Carrie.  He  could  have  been  genial  to  all  the  world,  and 
he  bore  no  grudge  against  his  wife.  He  meant  to  be  pleas- 
ant, to  forget  her  presence,  to  live  in  the  atmosphere  of 
youth  and  pleasure  which  had  been  restored  to  him. 

So  now,  the  house,  to  his  mind,  had  a  most  pleasing  and 
comfortable  appearance.  In  the  hall  he  found  an  evening 
paper,  laid  there  by  the  maid  and  forgotten  by  Mrs.  Hurst- 
wood. In  the  dining-room  the  table  was  clean  laid  with 
linen  and  napery  and  shiny  with  glasses  and  decorated 
china.  Through  an  open  door  he  saw  into  the  kitchen, 
where  the  fire  was  crackling  in  the  stove  and  the  evening 
meal  already  well  under  way.  Out  in  the  small  back  yard 
was  George,  Jr.,  frolicking  with  a  young  dog  he  had  re- 
cently purchased,  and  in  the  parlour  Jessica  was  playing  at 
the  piano,  the  sounds  of  a  merry  waltz  filling  every  nook 


SISTER  CARRIE  235 

and  corner  of  the  comfortable  home.  Every  one,  like  him- 
self, seemed  to  have  regained  his  good  spirits,  to  be  in 
sympathy  with  youth  and  beauty,  to  be  inclined  to  joy  and 
merry-making.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  say  a  good  word  all 
around  himself,  and  took  a  most  genial  glance  at  the 
spread  table  and  polished  sideboard  before  going  upstairs 
to  read  his  paper  in  the  comfortable  arm-chair  of  the 
sitting-room  which  looked  through  the  open  windows 
into  the  street.  When  he  entered  there,  however,  he 
found  his  wife  brushing  her  hair  and  musing  to  herself 
the  while. 

He  came  lightly  in,  thinking  to  smooth  over  any  feeling 
that  might  still  exist  by  a  kindly  word  and  a  ready  prom- 
ise, but  Mrs.  Hurstwood  said  nothing.  He  seated  himself 
in  the  large  chair,  stirred  lightly  in  making  himself  com- 
fortable, opened  his  paper,  and  began  to  read.  In  a  few 
moments  he  was  smiling  merrily  over  a  very  comical  ac- 
count of  a  baseball  game  which  had  taken  place  between 
the  Chicago  and  Detroit  teams. 

The  while  he  was  doing  this  Mrs.  Hurstwood  was  ob- 
serving him  casually  through  the  medium  of  the  mirror 
which  was  before  her.  She  noticed  his  pleasant  and  con- 
tented manner,  his  airy  grace  and  smiling  humour,  and  it 
merely  aggravated  her  the  more.  She  wondered  how  he 
could  think  to  carry  himself  so  in  her  presence  after  the 
cynicism,  indifference,  and  neglect  he  had  heretofore 
manifested  and  would  continue  to  manifest  so  long  as  she 
would  endure  it.  She  thought  how  she  should  like  to  tell 
him — what  stress  and  emphasis  she  would  lend  her  asser- 
tions, how  she  should  drive  over  this  whole  affair  until 
satisfaction  should  be  rendered  her.  Indeed,  the  shining 
sword  of  her  wrath  was  but  weakly  suspended  by  a  thread 
of  thought. 

In  the  meanwhile  Hurstwood  encountered  a  humor- 
ous item  concerning  a  stranger  who  had  arrived  in  the 


236  SISTER  CARRIE 

city  and  became  entangled  with  a  bunco-steerer.  It 
amused  him  immensely,  and  at  last  he  stirred  and  chuckled 
to  himself.  He  wished  that  he  might  enlist  his  wife's  at- 
tention and  read  it  to  her. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  he  exclaimed  softly,  as  if  to  himself,  "  that's 
funny." 

Mrs.  Hurstwood  kept  on  arranging  her  hair,  not  so 
much  as  deigning  a  glance. 

He  stirred  again  and  went  on  to  another  subject.  At 
last  he  felt  as  if  his  good-humour  must  find  some  outlet. 
Julia  was  probably  still  out  of  humour  over  that  affair  of 
this  morning,  but  that  could  easily  be  straightened.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  was  in  the  wrong,  but  he  didn't  care. 
She  could  go  to  Waukesha  right  away  if  she  wanted  to. 
The  sooner  the  better.  He  would  tell  her  that  as  soon  as 
he  got  a  chance,  and  the  whole  thing  would  blow  over. 

"  Did  you  notice,"  he  said,  at  last,  breaking  forth  con- 
cerning another  item  which  he  had  found,  "  that  they  have 
entered  suit  to  compel  the  Illinois  Central  to  get  off  the 
lake  front,  Julia?  "  he  asked. 

She  could  scarcely  force  herself  to  answer,  but  man- 
aged to  say  "  No,"  sharply. 

Hurstwood  pricked  up  his  ears.  There  was  a  note  in 
her  voice  which  vibrated  keenly. 

"  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  they  did,"  he  went  on, 
half  to  himself,  half  to  her,  though  he  felt  that  something 
was  amiss  in  that  quarter.  He  withdrew  his  attention  to 
his  paper  very  circumspectly,  listening  mentally  for  the 
little  sounds  which  should  show  him  what  was  on 
foot. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  man  as  clever  as  Hurstwood — 
as  observant  and  sensitive  to  atmospheres  of  many  sorts, 
particularly  upon  his  own  plane  of  thought — would  have 
made  the  mistake  which  he  did  in  regard  to  his  wife, 
wrought  up  as  she  was,  had  he  not  been  occupied  men- 


SISTER  CARRIE 


237 


tally  with  a  very  different  train  of  thought.  Had  not  the 
influence  of  Carrie's  regard  for  him,  the  elation  which  her 
promise  aroused  in  him,  lasted  over,  he  would  not 
have  seen  the  house  in  so  pleasant  a  mood.  It  was  not 
extraordinarily  bright  and  merry  this  evening.  He  was 
merely  very  much  mistaken,  and  would  have  been  much 
more  fitted  to  cope  with  it  had  he  come  home  in  his  nor- 
mal state. 

After  he  had  studied  his  paper  a  few  moments  longer, 
he  felt  that  he  ought  to  modify  matters  in  some  way  or 
other.  Evidently  his  wife  was  not  going  to  patch  up  peace 
at  a  word.    So  he  said : 

"  Where  did  George  get  the  dog  he  has  there  in  the 
yard?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  snapped. 

He  put  his  paper  down  on  his  knees  and  gazed  idly  out 
of  the  window.  He  did  not  propose  to  lose  his  temper, 
but  merely  to  be  persistent  and  agreeable,  and  by  a  few 
questions  bring  around  a  mild  understanding  of  some 
sort. 

"  Why  do  you  feel  so  bad  about  that  affair  of  this  morn- 
ing ?  "  he  said,  at  last.  "  We  needn't  quarrel  about  that. 
You  know  you  can  go  to  Waukesha  if  you  want  to." 

"  So  you  can  stay  here  and  trifle  around  with  some  one 
else  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  turning  to  him  a  determined  coun- 
tenance upon  which  was  drawn  a  sharp  and  wrathful 
sneer. 

He  stopped  as  if  slapped  in  the  face.  In  an  instant  his 
persuasive,  conciliatory  manner  fled.  He  was  on  the  de- 
fensive at  a  wink  and  puzzled  for  a  word  to  reply. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said  at  last,  straightening 
himself  and  gazing  at  the  cold,  determined  figure  before 
him,  who  paid  no  attention,  but  went  on  arranging  herself 
before  the  mirror. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said,  finally,  as  if  there 


238  SISTER  CARRIE 

were  a  world  of  information  which  she  held  in  reserve — 
which  she  did  not  need  to  tell. 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  he  said,  stubbornly,  yet  nervous  and 
alert  for  what  should  come  next.  The  finality  of  the 
woman's  manner  took  away  his  feeling  of  superiority  in 
battle. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  Hmph  !  "  he  murmured,  with  a  movement  of  his  head 
to  one  side.  It  was  the  weakest  thing  he  had  ever  done. 
It  was  totally  unassured. 

Mrs.  Hurstwood  noticed  the  lack  of  colour  in  it.  She 
turned  upon  him,  animal-like,  able  to  strike  an  effectual 
second  blow. 

"  I  want  the  Waukesha  money  to-morrow  morning," 
she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Never  before  had  he 
seen  such  a  cold,  steely  determination  in  her  eye — such  a 
cruel  look  of  indifference.  She  seemed  a  thorough  master 
of  her  mood — thoroughly  confident  and  determined  to 
wrest  all  control  from  him.  He  felt  that  all  his  resources 
could  not  defend  him.    He  must  attack. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said,  jumping  up.  "  You 
want !    I'd  like  to  know  what's  got  into  you  to-night." 

"  Nothing's  got  into  me,"  she  said,  flaming.  "  I  want 
that  money.    You  can  do  your  swaggering  afterwards." 

"  Swaggering,  eh  !  What !  You'll  get  nothing  from 
me.    What  do  you  mean  by  your  insinuations,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Where  were  you  last  night  ?  "  she  answered.  The 
words  were  hot  as  they  came.  "  Who  were  you  driving 
with  on  Washington  Boulevard  ?  Who  were  you  with  at 
the  theatre  when  George  saw  you  ?  Do  you  think  I'm  a 
fool  to  be  duped  by  you?  Do  you  think  I'll  sit  at  home 
here  and  take  your  '  too  busys  '  and  '  can't  come,'  while 
you  parade  around  and  make  out  that  I'm  unable  to  come  ? 
I  want  you  to  know  that  lordly  airs  have  come  to  an  end 


SISTER  CARRIE  239 

so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  You  can't  dictate  to  me  nor 
my  children.    I'm  through  with  you  entirely." 

"  It's  a  lie,"  he  said,  driven  to  a  corner  and  knowing  no 
other  excuse. 

"  Lie,  eh !  "  she  said,  fiercely,  but  with  returning  re- 
serve ;  "  you  may  call  it  a  lie  if  you  want  to,  but  I  know." 

"  It's  a  lie,  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  sharp  voice. 
"  You've  been  searching  around  for  some  cheap  accusa- 
tion for  months,  and  now  you  think  you  have  it.  You 
think  you'll  spring  something  and  get  the  upper  hand. 
Well,  I  tell  you,  you  can't.  As  long  as  I'm  in  this  house 
I'm  master  of  it,  and  you  or  any  one  else  won't  dictate  to 
me — do  you  hear  ?  " 

He  crept  toward  her  with  a  light  in  his  eye  that  was 
ominous.  Something  in  the  woman's  cool,  cynical,  up- 
per-handish  manner,  as  if  she  were  already  master,  caused 
him  to  feel  for  the  moment  as  if  he  could  strangle  her. 

She  gazed  at  him — a  pythoness  in  humour. 

"  I'm  not  dictating  to  you,"  she  returned ;  "  I'm  tell- 
ing you  what  I  want." 

The  answer  was  so  cool,  so  rich  in  bravado,  that  some- 
how it  took  the  wind  out  of  his  sails.  He  could  not  attack 
her,  he  could  not  ask  her  for  proofs.  Somehow  he  felt  evi- 
dence, law,  the  remembrance  of  all  his  property  which  she 
held  in  her  name,  to  be  shining  in  her  glance.  He  was 
like  a  vessel,  powerful  and  dangerous,  but  rolling  and 
floundering  without  sail. 

"  And  I'm  telling  you,"  he  said  in  the  end,  slightly 
recovering  himself,  "  what  you'll  not  get." 

"  We'll  see  about  it,"  she  said.  "  I'll  find  out  what  my 
rights  are.  Perhaps  you'll  talk  to  a  lawyer,  if  you  won't 
to  me." 

It  was  a  magnificent  play,  and  had  its  effect.  Hurst- 
wood  fell  back  beaten.  He  knew  now  that  he  had  more 
than  mere  bluff  to  contend  with.    He  felt  that  he  was  face 


240 


SISTER  CARRIE 


to  face  with  a  dull  proposition.  What  to  say  he  hardly 
knew.  All  the  merriment  had  gone  out  of  the  day.  He 
was  disturbed,  wretched,  resentful.  What  should  he  do? 
"  Do  as  you  please,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  I'll  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  you,"  and  out  he  strode. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

A  SPIRIT  IN  TRAVAIL  I  ONE  RUNG  PUT  BEHIND 

When  Carrie  reached  her  own  room  she  had  already 
fallen  a  prey  to  those  doubts  and  misgivings  which  are 
ever  the  result  of  a  lack  of  decision  She  could  not  per- 
suade herself  as  to  the  advisability  of  her  promise,  or  that 
now,  having  given  her  word,  she  ought  to  keep  it.  She 
went  over  the  whole  ground  in  Hurstwood's  absence,  and 
discovered  little  objections  that  had  not  occurred  to  her 
in  the  warmth  of  the  manager's  argument.  She  saw 
where  she  had  put  herself  in  a  peculiar  light,  namely,  that 
of  agreeing  to  marry  when  she  was  already  supposedly 
married.  She  remembered  a  few  things  Drouet  had  done, 
and  now  that  it  came  to  walking  away  from  him  without 
a  word,  she  felt  as  if  she  were  doing  wrong.  Now,  she 
was  comfortably  situated,  and  to  one  who  is  more  or  less 
afraid  of  the  world,  this  is  an  urgent  matter,  and  one  which 
puts  up  strange,  uncanny  arguments.  "  You  do  not 
know  what  will  come.  There  are  miserable  things  out- 
side. People  go  a-begging.  Women  are  wretched.  You 
never  can  tell  what  will  happen.  Remember  the  time  you 
were  hungry.     Stick  to  what  you  have." 

Curiously,  for  all  her  leaning  towards  Hurstwood,  he 
had  not  taken  a  firm  hold  on  her  understanding.  She  was 
listening,  smiling,  approving,  and  yet  not  finally  agreeing. 
This  was  due  to  a  lack  of  power  on  his  part,  a  lack  of  that 
majesty  of  passion  that  sweeps  the  mind  from  its  seat, 
fuses  and  melts  all  arguments  and  theories  into  a  tangled 
mass,  and  destroys  for  the  time  being  the  reasoning 
16 


242  SISTER  CARRIE 

power.  This  majesty  of  passion  is  possessed  by  nearly 
every  man  once  in  his  life,  but  it  is  usually  an  attribute  of 
youth  and  conduces  to  the  first  successful  mating. 

Hurstwood,  being  an  older  man,  could  scarcely  be  said 
to  retain  the  fire  of  youth,  though  he  did  possess  a  pas- 
sion warm  and  unreasoning.  It  was  strong  enough  to 
induce  the  leaning  toward  him  which,  on  Carrie's  part, 
we  have  seen.  She  might  have  been  said  to  be  imagining 
herself  in  love,  when  she  was  not.  Women  frequently  do 
this.  It  flows  from  the  fact  that  in  each  exists  a  bias  to- 
ward affection,  a  craving  for  the  pleasure  of  being  loved. 
The  longing  to  be  shielded,  bettered,  sympathised  with, 
is  one  of  the  attributes  of  the  sex.  This,  coupled  with 
sentiment  and  a  natural  tendency  to  emotion,  often  makes 
refusing  difficult.     It  persuades  them  that  they  are  in  love. 

Once  at  home,  she  changed  her  clothes  and  straight- 
ened the  rooms  for  herself.  In  the  matter  of  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  furniture  she  never  took  the  house-maid's 
opinion.  That  young  woman  invariably  put  one  of  the 
rocking-chairs  in  the  corner,  and  Carrie  as  regularly 
moved  it  out.  To-day  she  hardly  noticed  that  it  was  in 
the  wrong  place,  so  absorbed  was  she  in  her  own  thoughts. 
She  worked  about  the  room  until  Drouet  put  in  appear- 
ance at  five  o'clock.  The  drummer  was  flushed  and  ex- 
cited and  full  of  determination  to  know  all  about  her  rela- 
tions with  Hurstwood.  Nevertheless,  after  going  over 
the  subject  in  his  mind  the  livelong  day,  he  was  rather 
weary  of  it  and  wished  it  over  with.  He  did  not  foresee 
serious  consequences  of  any  sort,  and  yet  he  rather  hesi- 
tated to  begin.  Carrie  was  sitting  by  the  window  when 
he  came  in,  rocking  and  looking  out. 

"  Well,"  she  said  innocently,  weary  of  her  own  mental 
discussion  and  wondering  at  his  haste  and  ill-concealed 
excitement,  "  what  makes  you  hurry  so  ?  " 

Drouet  hesitated,  now  that  he  was  in  her  presence,  un- 


SISTER  CARRIE  243 

certain  as  to  what  course  to  pursue.  He  was  no  diplomat. 
He  could  neither  read  nor  see. 

"  When  did  you  get  home?  "  he  asked  foolishly. 

"  Oh,  an  hour  or  so  ago.     What  makes  you  ask  that?  " 

"  You  weren't  here,"  he  said,  "  when  I  came  back  this 
morning,  and  I  thought  you  had  gone  out" 

"  So  I  did,"  said  Carrie  simply.     "  I  went  for  a  walk." 

Drouet  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  For  all  his  lack 
of  dignity  in  such  matters  he  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 
He  stared  at  her  in  the  most  flagrant  manner  until  at  last 
she  said: 

"  What  makes  you  stare  at  me  so?  What's  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered.     "  I  was  just  thinking." 

"Just  thinking  what?  "  she  returned  smilingly,  puzzled 
by  his  attitude. 

"  Oh,  nothing — nothing  much." 

"  Well,  then,  what  makes  you  look  so?  " 

Drouet  was  standing  by  the  dresser,  gazing  at  her  in  a 
comic  manner.  He  had  laid  off  his  hat  and  gloves  and 
was  now  fidgeting  with  the  little  toilet  pieces  which  were 
nearest  him.  He  hesitated  to  believe  that  the  pretty 
woman  before  him  was  involved  in  anything  so  unsatis- 
factory to  himself.  He  was  very  much  inclined  to  feel 
that  it  was  all  right,  after  all.  Yet  the  knowledge  im- 
parted to  him  by  the  chambermaid  was  rankling  in  his 
mind.  He  wanted  to  plunge  in  with  a  straight  remark  of 
some  sort,  but  he  knew  not  what. 

"  Where  did  you  go  this  morning?  "  he  finally  asked 
weakly. 

"  Why,  I  went  for  a  walk,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Sure  you  did?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  what  makes  you  ask?  " 

She  was  beginning  to  see  now  that  he  knew  something. 
Instantly  she  drew  herself  into  a  more  reserved  posi- 
tion.    Her  cheeks  blanched  slightly. 


244  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I  thought  maybe  you  didn't,"  he  said,  beating  about 
the  bush  in  the  most  useless  manner. 

Carrie  gazed  at  him,  and  as  she  did  so  her  ebbing  cour- 
age halted.  She  saw  that  he  himself  was  hesitating,  and 
with  a  woman's  intuition  realised  that  there  was  no  occa- 
sion for  great  alarm. 

"  What  makes  you  talk  like  that?  "  she  asked,  wrinkling 
her  pretty  forehead.     "  You  act  so  ftmny  to-night." 

"  I  feel  funny,"  he  answered. 

They  looked  at  one  another  for  a  moment,  and  then 
Drouet  plunged  desperately  into  his  subject. 

"  What's  this  about  you  and  Hurstwood?  "  he  asked. 

"  Me  and  Hurstwood — what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Didn't  he  come  here  a  dozen  times  while  I  was 
away  ?  " 

"  A  dozen  times,"  repeated  Carrie,  guiltily.  "  No,  but 
what  do  you  mean?" 

"  Somebody  said  that  you  went  out  riding  with  him  and 
that  he  came  here  every  night." 

"  No  such  thing,"  answered  Carrie.  "  It  isn't  true. 
Who  told  you  that?  " 

She  was  flushing  scarlet  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  but 
Drouet  did  not  catch  the  full  hue  of  her  face,  owing  to  the 
modified  light  of  the  room.  He  was  regaining  much  con- 
fidence as  Carrie  defended  herself  with  denials. 

"  Well,  some  one,"  he  said.    "  You're  sure  you  didn't?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Carrie.  "  You  know  how  often  he 
came." 

Drouet  paused  for  a  moment  and  thought. 

"  I  know  what  you  told  me,"  he  said  finally. 

He  moved  nervously  about,  while  Carrie  looked  at  him 
confusedly. 

"  Well,  I  know  that  I  didn't  tell  you  any  such  thing  as 
that,"  said  Carrie,  recovering  herself. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  went  on  Drouet,  ignoring  her  last 


SISTER  CARRIE  245 

remark,  "  I  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  He's 
a  married  man,  you  know." 

"  Who — who  is?  "  said  Carrie,  stumbling  at  the  word. 

"  Why,  Hurstwood,"  said  Drouet,  noting  the  effect  and 
feeling  that  he  was  delivering  a  telling  blow. 

"  Hurstwood!  "  exclaimed  Carrie,  rising.  Her  face  had 
changed  several  shades  since  this  announcement  was 
made.  She  looked  within  and  without  herself  in  a  half- 
dazed  way. 

"Who  told  you  this?"  she  asked,  forgetting  that  her 
interest  was  out  of  order  and  exceedingly  incriminating. 

■  '■  Why,  I  know  it.     I've  always  known  it,"  said  Drouet. 

Carrie  was  feeling  about  for  a  right  thought.  She  was 
making  a  most  miserable  showing,  and  yet  feelings  were 
generating  within  her  which  were  anything  but  crumbling 
cowardice. 

"  I  thought  I  told  you,"  he  added. 

"  No,  you  didn't,"  she  contradicted,  suddenly  recover- 
ing her  voice.     "  You  didn't  do  anything  of  the  kind." 

Drouet  listened  to  her  in  astonishment.  This  was 
something  new. 

"  I  thought  I  did,"  he  said. 

Carrie  looked  around  her  very  solemnly,  and  then  went 
over  to  the  window. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  have  had  anything  to  do  with  him," 
said  Drouet  in  an  injured  tone,  "  after  all  I've  done  for 
you." 

"  You,"  said  Carrie,  "  you!  What  have  you  done  for 
me?  " 

Her  little  brain  had  been  surging  with  contradictory 
feelings — shame  at  exposure,  shame  at  Hurstwood's 
perfidy,  anger  at  Drouet's  deception,  the  mockery  he 
had  made  of  her.  Now  one  clear  idea  came  into  her 
head.  He  was  at  fault.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it. 
Why  did  he  bring  Hurstwood  out — Hurstwood,  a  mar- 


246  SISTER  CARRIE 

ried  man,  and  never  say  a  word  to  her?  Never  mind 
now  about  Hurstwood's  perfidy — why  had  he  done  this  ? 
Why  hadn't  he  warned  her  ?  There  he  stood  now,  guilty 
of  this  miserable  breach  of  confidence  and  talking  about 
what  he  had  done  for  her  ! 

"  Well,  I  like  that,"  exclaimed  Drouet,  little  realising 
the  fire  his  remark  had  generated.  "  I  think  I've  done  a 
good  deal." 

"You  have,  eh?"  she  answered.  "You've  deceived 
me — that's  what  you've  done.  You've  brought  your  old 
friends  out  here  under  false  pretences.  You've  made  me 
out  to  be —  Oh,"  and  with  this  her  voice  broke  and  she 
pressed  her  two  little  hands  together  tragically. 

"  I  don't  see  what  that's  got  to  do  with  it,"  said  the 
drummer  quaintly. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  recovering  herself  and  shutting 
her  teeth.  "  No,  of  course  you  don't  see.  There 
isn't  anything  you  see.  You  couldn't  have  told  me  in  the 
first  place,  could  you?  You  had  to  make  me  out  wrong 
until  it  was  too  late.  Now  you  come  sneaking  around 
with  your  information  and  your  talk  about  what  you  have 
done." 

Drouet  had  never  suspected  this  side  of  Carrie's  nature. 
She  was  alive  with  feeling,  her  eyes  snapping,  her  lips 
quivering,  her  whole  body  sensible  of  the  injury  she  felt, 
and  partaking  of  her  wrath. 

"Who's  sneaking?"  he  asked,  mildly  conscious  of 
error  on  his  part,  but  certain  that  he  was  wronged. 

"  You  are,"  stamped  Carrie.  "  You're  a  horrid,  con- 
ceited coward,  that's  what  you  are.  If  you  had  any  sense 
of  manhood  in  you,  you  wouldn't  have  thought  of  doing 
any  such  thing." 

The  drummer  stared. 

"  I'm  not  a  coward,"  he  said.  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  going  with  other  men,  anyway?  " 


SISTER  CARRIE  247 

"  Other  men!  "  exclaimed  Carrie.  "  Other  men — you 
know  better  than  that.  I  did  go  with  Mr.  Hurstwood, 
but  whose  fault  was  it?  Didn't  you  bring  him  here? 
You  told  him  yourself  that  he  should  come  out  here  and 
take  me  out.  Now,  after  it's  all  over,  you  come  and  tell 
me  that  I  oughtn't  to  go  with  him  and  that  he's  a  married 
man." 

She  paused  at  the  sound  of  the  last  two  words  and 
wrung  her  hands.  The  knowledge  of  Hurstwood's  perfidy 
wounded  her  like  a  knife. 

"  Oh,"  she  sobbed,  repressing  herself  wonderfully  and 
keeping  her  eyes  dry.     "  Oh,  oh!  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  think  you'd  be  running  around  with 
him  when  I  was  away,"  insisted  Drouet. 

"  Didn't  think!  "  said  Carrie,  now  angered  to  the  core 
by  the  man's  peculiar  attitude.  "  Of  course  not.  You 
thought  only  of  what  would  be  to  your  satisfaction.  You 
thought  you'd  make  a  toy  of  me — a  plaything.  Well,  I'll 
show  you  that  you  won't.  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  you  at  all.  You  can  take  your  old  things  and  keep 
them,"  and  unfastening  a  little  pin  he  had  given  her,  she 
flung  it  vigorously  upon  the  floor  and  began  to  move 
about  as  if  to  gather  up  the  things  which  belonged  to  her. 

By  this  Drouet  was  not  only  irritated  but  fascinated  the 
more.    He  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  and  finally  said : 

"  I  don't  see  where  your  wrath  comes  in.  I've  got  the 
right  of  this  thing.  You  oughtn't  to  have  done  anything 
that  wasn't  right  after  all  I  did  for  you." 

"  What  have  you  done  for  me?  "  asked  Carrie  blazing, 
her  head  thrown  back  and  her  lips  parted. 

"  I  think  I've  done  a  good  deal,"  said  the  drummer, 
looking  around.  "  I've  given  you  all  the  clothes  you 
wanted,  haven't  I?  I've  taken  you  everywhere  you 
wanted  to  go.  You've  had  as  much  as  I've  had,  and  more 
too." 


248  SISTER  CARRIE 

Carrie  was  not  ungrateful,  whatever  else  might  be  said 
of  her.  In  so  far  as  her  mind  could  construe,  she  acknowl- 
edged benefits  received.  She  hardly  knew  how  to  answer 
this,  and  yet  her  wrath  was  not  placated.  She  felt  that  the 
drummer  had  injured  her  irreparably. 

"  Did  I  ask  you  to?  "  she  returned. 

"  Well,  I  did  it,"  said  Drouet,  "  and  you  took  it." 

"  You  talk  as  though  I  had  persuaded  you,"  answered 
Carrie.  "  You  stand  there  and  throw  up  what  you've 
done.  I  don't  want  your  old  things.  I'll  not  have  them. 
You  take  them  to-night  and  do  what  you  please  with 
them.     I'll  not  stay  here  another  minute." 

"That's  nice!"  he  answered,  becoming  angered  now 
at  the  sense  of  his  own  approaching  loss.  "  Use  every- 
thing and  abuse  me  and  then  walk  off.  That's  just  like  a 
woman.  I  take  you  when  you  haven't  got  anything,  and 
then  when  some  one  else  comes  along,  why  I'm  no  good. 
I  always  thought  it'd  come  out  that  way." 

He  felt  really  hurt  as  he  thought  of  his  treatment,  and 
looked  as  if  he  saw  no  way  of  obtaining  justice. 

"  It's  not  so,"  said  Carrie,  "  and  I'm  not  going  with 
anybody  else.  You  have  been  as  miserable  and  incon- 
siderate as  you  can  be.  I  hate  you,  I  tell  you,  and  I 
wouldn't  live  with  you  another  minute.  You're  a  big, 
insulting  " — here  she  hesitated  and  used  no  word  at  all — 
"  or  you  wouldn't  talk  that  way." 

She  had  secured  her  hat  and  jacket  and  slipped  the  lat- 
ter on  over  her  little  evening  dress.  Some  wisps  of  wavy 
hair  had  loosened  from  the  bands  at  the  side  of  her  head 
and  were  straggling  over  her  hot,  red  cheeks.  She  was 
angry,  mortified,  grief-stricken.  Her  large  eyes  were  full 
of  the  anguish  of  tears,  but  her  lids  were  not  yet  wet.  She 
was  distracted  and  uncertain,  deciding  and  doing  things 
without  an  aim  or  conclusion,  and  she  had  not  the  slight- 
est conception  of  how  the  whole  difficulty  would  end. 


SISTER  CARRIE  249 

"  Well,  that's  a  fine  finish,"  said  Drouet.  "  Pack  up  and 
pull  out,  eh?  You  take  the  cake.  I  bet  you  were  knock- 
ing around  with  Hurstwood  or  you  wouldn't  act  like  that. 
I  don't  want  the  old  rooms.  You  needn't  pull  out  for  me. 
You  can  have  them  for  all  I  care,  but  b'George,  you 
haven't  done  me  right." 

"  I'll  not  live  with  you,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  don't  want  to 
live  with  you.  You've  done  nothing  but  brag  around 
ever  since  you've  been  here." 

"  Aw,  I  haven't  anything  of  the  kind,"  he  answered. 

Carrie  walked  over  to  the  door. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  said,  stepping  over  and 
heading  her  off. 

"  Let  me  out,"  she  said. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  repeated. 

He  was,  above  all,  sympathetic,  and  the  sight  of  Carrie 
wandering  out,  he  knew  not  where,  affected  him,  despite 
his  grievance. 

Carrie  merely  pulled  at  the  door. 

The  strain  of  the  situation  was  too  much  for  her,  how- 
ever. She  made  one  more  vain  effort  and  then  burst  into 
tears. 

"Now,  be  reasonable,  Cad,"  said  Drouet  gently. 
"What  do  you  want  to  rush  out  for  this  way?  You 
haven't  any  place  to  go.  Why  not  stay  here  now  and  be 
quiet?  I'll  not  bother  you.  I  don't  want  to  stay  here 
any  longer." 

Carrie  had  gone  sobbing  from  the  door  to  the  window. 
She  was  so  overcome  she  could  not  speak. 

"  Be  reasonable  now,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  hold 
you.  You  can  go  if  you  want  to,  but  why  don't  you  think 
it  over?     Lord  knows,  I  don't  want  to  stop  you." 

He  received  no  answer.  Carrie  was  quieting,  however, 
under  the  influence  of  his  plea. 

"  You  stay  here  now,  and  I'll  go,"  he  added  at  last. 


250  SISTER  CARRIE 

Carrie  listened  to  this  with  mingled  feelings.  Her 
mind  was  shaken  loose  from  the  little  mooring  of  logic 
that  it  had.  She  was  stirred  by  this  thought,  angered  by 
that — her  own  injustice,  Hurstwood's,  Drouet's,  their  re- 
spective qualities  of  kindness  and  favour,  the  threat  of  the 
world  outside,  in  which  she  had  failed  once  before,  the 
impossibility  of  this  state  inside,  where  the  chambers  were 
no  longer  justly  hers,  the  effect  of  the  argument  upon  her 
nerves,  all  combined  to  make  her  a  mass  of  jangling  fibres 
— an  anchorless,  storm-beaten  little  craft  which  could  do 
absolutely  nothing  but  drift. 

"  Say,"  said  Drouet,  coming  over  to  her  after  a  few 
moments,  with  a  new  idea,  and  putting  his  hand  upon  her. 

"  Don't!  "  said  Carrie,  drawing  away,  but  not  removing 
her  handkerchief  from  her  eyes. 

"  Never  mind  about  this  quarrel  now.  Let  it  go.  You 
stay  here  until  the  month's  out,  anyhow,  and  then  you  can 
tell  better  what  you  want  to  do.     Eh?  " 

Carrie  made  no  answer. 

"  You'd  better  do  that,"  he  said.  "  There's  no  use 
your  packing  up  now.     You  can't  go  anywhere." 

Still  he  got  nothing  for  his  words. 

"  If  you'll  do  that,  we'll  call  it  off  for  the  present  and  I'll 
get  out." 

Carrie  lowered  her  handkerchief  slightly  and  looked  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Will  you  do  that?  "  he  asked. 

Still  no  answer. 

"  Will  you?  "  he  repeated. 

She  only  looked  vaguely  into  the  street. 

"  Aw!  come  on,"  he  said,  "  tell  me.     Will  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie  softly,  forced  to  answer. 

"  Promise  me  you'll  do  that,"  he  said,  "  and  we'll  quit 
talking  about  it.     It'll  be  the  best  thing  for  you." 

Carrie  heard  him,  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 


SISTER  CARRIE  25 1 

answer  reasonably.  She  felt  that  the  man  was  gentle,  and 
that  his  interest  in  her  had  not  abated,  and  it  made  her 
suffer  a  pang  of  regret.     She  was  in  a  most  helpless  plight. 

As  for  Drouet,  his  attitude  had  been  that  of  the  jealous 
lover.  Now  his  feelings  were  a  mixture  of  anger  at  de- 
ception, sorrow  at  losing  Carrie,  misery  at  being  defeated. 
He  wanted  his  rights  in  some  way  or  other,  and  yet  his 
rights  included  the  retaining  of  Carrie,  the  making  her 
feel  her  error. 

"Will  you?  "he  urged. 

"  Well,  I'll  see,"  said  Carrie. 

This  left  the  matter  as  open  as  before,  but  it  was  some- 
thing. It  looked  as  if  the  quarrel  would  blow  over,  if  they 
could  only  get  some  way  of  talking  to  one  another.  Car- 
rie was  ashamed,  and  Drouet  aggrieved.  He  pretended  to 
take  up  the  task  of  packing  some  things  in  a  valise. 

Now,  as  Carrie  watched  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her 
eye,  certain  sound  thoughts  came  into  her  head.  He  had 
erred,  true,  but  what  had  she  done  ?  He  was  kindly  and 
good-natured  for  all  his  egotism.  Throughout  this  argu- 
ment he  had  said  nothing  very  harsh.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  was  Hurstwood — a  greater  deceiver  than  he.  He 
had  pretended  all  this  affection,  all  this  passion,  and  he  was 
lying  to  her  all  the  while.  Oh,  the  perfidy  of  men!  And 
she  had  loved  him.  There  could  be  nothing  more  in  that 
quarter.  She  would  see  Hurstwood  no  more.  She  would 
write  him  and  let  him  know  what  she  thought.  There- 
upon what  would  she  do?  Here  were  these  rooms.  Here 
was  Drouet,  pleading  for  her  to  remain.  Evidently 
things  could  go  on  here  somewhat  as  before,  if  all  were 
arranged.  It  would  be  better  than  the  street,  without  a 
place  to  lay  her  head. 

All  this  she  thought  of  as  Drouet  rummaged  the  drawers 
for  collars  and  laboured  long  and  painstakingly  at  finding 
a  shirt-stud.     He  was  in  no  hurry  to  rush  this  matter. 


252  SISTER  CARRIE 

He  felt  an  attraction  to  Carrie  which  would  not  down. 
He  could  not  think  that  the  thing  would  end  by  his  walk- 
ing out  of  the  room.  There  must  be  some  way  round, 
some  way  to  make  her  own  up  that  he  was  right  and  she 
was  wrong — to  patch  up  a  peace  and  shut  out  Hurstwood 
for  ever.  Mercy,  how  he  turned  at  the  man's  shameless 
duplicity. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments'  silence, 
"  that  you'll  try  and  get  on  the  stage?  " 

He  was  wondering  what  she  was  intending. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  yet,"  said  Carrie. 

"  If  you  do,  maybe  I  can  help  you.  I've  got  a  lot  of 
friends  in  that  line." 

She  made  no  answer  to  this. 

"  Don't  go  and  try  to  knock  around  now  without  any 
money.  Let  me  help  you,"  he  said.  "  It's  no  easy  thing 
to  go  on  your  own  hook  here." 

Carrie  only  rocked  back  and  forth  in  her  chair. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go  up  against  a  hard  game  that 
way." 

He  bestirred  himself  about  some  other  details  and  Car- 
rie rocked  on. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  all  about  this  thing,"  he  said, 
after  a  time,  "  and  let's  call  it  off?  You  don't  really  care 
for  Hurstwood,  do  you?  " 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  start  on  that  again?  "  said  Car- 
rie.    "  You  were  to  blame." 

"  No,  I  wasn't,"  he  answered. 

"  Yes,  you  were,  too,"  said  Carrie.  "  You  shouldn't 
have  ever  told  me  such  a  story  as  that." 

"  But  you  didn't  have  much  to  do  with  him,  did  you?  " 
went  on  Drouet,  anxious  for  his  own  peace  of  mind  to  get 
some  direct  denial  from  her. 

"  I  won't  talk  about  it,"  said  Carrie,  pained  at  the  quiz- 
zical turn  the  peace  arrangement  had  taken. 


SISTER  CARRIE  253 

"  What's  the  use  of  acting  like  that  now,  Cad?  "  insisted 
the  drummer,  stopping  in  his  work  and  putting  up  a  hand 
expressively.  ''  You  might  let  me  know  where  I  stand, 
at  least." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Carrie,  feeling  no  refuge  but  in  anger. 
"  Whatever  has  happened  is  your  own  fault." 

"Then  you  do  care  for  him?"  said  Drouet,  stopping 
completely  and  experiencing  a  rush  of  feeling. 

"  Oh,  stop!  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  I'll  not  be  made  a  fool  of,"  exclaimed  Drouet. 
"  You  may  trifle  around  with  him  if  you  want  to,  but  you 
can't  lead  me.  You  can  tell  me  or  not,  just  as  you  want 
to,  but  I  won't  fool  any  longer !  " 

He  shoved  the  last  few  remaining  things  he  had  laid 
out  into  his  valise  and  snapped  it  with  a  vengeance.  Then 
he  grabbed  his  coat,  which  he  had  laid  off  to  work,  picked 
up  his  gloves,  and  started  out. 

"  You  can  go  to  the  deuce  as  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
he  said,  as  he  reached  the  door.  "  I'm  no  sucker,"  and 
with  that  he  opened  it  with  a  jerk  and  closed  it  equally 
vigorously. 

Carrie  listened  at  her  window  view,  more  astonished 
than  anything  else  at  this  sudden  rise  of  passion  in  the 
drummer.  She  could  hardly  believe  her  senses — so  good- 
natured  and  tractable  had  he  invariably  been.  It  was  not 
for  her  to  see  the  wellspring  of  human  passion.  A  real 
flame  of  love  is  a  subtle  thing.  It  burns  as  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  dancing  onward  to  fairylands  of  delight.  It  roars 
as  a  furnace.  Too  often  jealousy  is  the  quality  upon 
which  it  feeds. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

ASHES  OF  TINDER :  A  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW 

That  night  Hurstwood  remained  down  town  entirely, 
going  to  the  Palmer  House  for  a  bed  after  his  work  was 
through.  He  was  in  a  fevered  state  of  mind,  owing  to  the 
blight  his  wife's  action  threatened  to  cast  upon  his  entire 
future.  While  he  was  not  sure  how  much  significance 
might  be  attached  to  the  threat  she  had  made,  he  was  sure 
that  her  attitude,  if  long  continued,  would  cause  him  no 
end  of  trouble.  She  was  determined,  and  had  worsted 
him  in  a  very  important  contest.  How  would  it  be  from 
now  on?  He  walked  the  floor  of  his  little  office,  and  later 
that  of  his  room,  putting  one  thing  and  another  to- 
gether to  no  avail. 

Mrs.  Hurstwood,  on  the  contrary,  had  decided  not  to 
lose  her  advantage  by  inaction.  Now  that  she  had  prac- 
tically cowed  him,  she  would  follow  up  her  work  with  de- 
mands, the  acknowledgment  of  which  would  make  her 
word  law  in  the  future.  He  would  have  to  pay  her  the 
money  which  she  would  now  regularly  demand  or  there 
would  be  trouble.  It  did  not  matter  what  he  did.  She 
really  did  not  care  whether  he  came  home  any  more  or 
not.  The  household  would  move  along  much  more 
pleasantly  without  him,  and  she  could  do  as  she  wished 
without  consulting  any  one.  Now  she  proposed  to  con- 
sult a  lawyer  and  hire  a  detective.  She  would  find  out 
at  once  just  what  advantages  she  could  gain. 

Hurstwood  walked  the  floor,  mentally  arranging  the 
chief  points  of  his  situation.     "  She  has  that  property  in 


SISTER  CARRIE  255 

her  name,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself.  "  What  a  fool 
trick  that  was.     Curse  it!     What  a  fool  move  that  was." 

He  also  thought  of  his  managerial  position.  "  If  she 
raises  a  row  now  I'll  lose  this  thing.  They  won't  have 
me  around  if  my  name  gets  in  the  papers.  My  friends, 
too !  "  He  grew  more  angry  as  he  thought  of  the  talk  any 
action  on  her  part  would  create.  How  would  the  papers 
talk  about  it?  Every  man  he  knew  would  be  wondering. 
He  would  have  to  explain  and  deny  and  make  a  general 
mark  of  himself.  Then  Moy  would  come  and  confer  with 
him  and  there  would  be  the  devil  to  pay. 

Many  little  wrinkles  gathered  between  his  eyes  as  he 
contemplated  this,  and  his  brow  moistened.  He  saw  no 
solution  of  anything — not  a  loophole  left. 

Through  all  this  thoughts  of  Carrie  flashed  upon  him, 
and  the  approaching  affair  of  Saturday.  Tangled  as  all 
his  matters  were,  he  did  not  worry  over  that.  It  was  the 
one  pleasing  thing  in  this  whole  rout  of  trouble.  He 
could  arrange  that  satisfactorily,  for  Carrie  would  be  glad 
to  wait,  if  necessary.  He  would  see  how  things  turned 
out  to-morrow,  and  then  he  would  talk  to  her.  They 
were  going  to  meet  as  usual.  He  saw  only  her  pretty 
face  and  neat  figure  and  wondered  why  life  was  not  ar- 
ranged so  that  such  joy  as  he  found  with  her  could  be 
steadily  maintained.  How  much  more  pleasant  it  would 
be.  Then  he  would  take  up  his  wife's  threat  again,  and 
the  wrinkles  and  moisture  would  return. 

In  the  morning  he  came  over  from  the  hotel  and  opened 
his  mail,  but  there  was  nothing  in  it  outside  the  ordinary 
run.  For  some  reason  he  felt  as  if  something  might  come 
that  way,  and  was  relieved  when  all  the  envelopes  had 
been  scanned  and  nothing  suspicious  noticed.  He  began 
to  feel  the  appetite  that  had  been  wanting  before  he  had 
reached  the  office,  and  decided  before  going  out  to  the 
park  to  meet  Carrie  to  drop  in  at  the  Grand  Pacific  and 


256  SISTER  CARRIE 

have  a  pot  of  coffee  and  some  rolls.  While  the  danger 
had  not  lessened,  it  had  not  as  yet  materialised,  and  with 
him  no  news  was  good  news.  If  he  could  only  get  plenty 
of  time  to  think,  perhaps  something  would  turn  up. 
Surely,  surely,  this  thing  would  not  drift  along  to  catas- 
trophe and  he  not  find  a  way  out. 

His  spirits  fell,  however,  when,  upon  reaching  the  park, 
he  waited  and  waited  and  Carrie  did  not  come.  He  held 
his  favourite  post  for  an  hour  or  more,  then  arose  and 
began  to  walk  about  restlessly.  Could  something  have 
happened  out  there  to  keep  her  away?  Could  she  have 
been  reached  by  his  wife  ?  Surely  not.  So  little  did  he  con- 
sider Drouet  that  it  never  once  occurred  to  him  to  worry 
about  his  finding  out.  He  grew  restless  as  he  ruminated, 
and  then  decided  that  perhaps  it  was  nothing.  She  had 
not  been  able  to  get  away  this  morning.  That  was  why 
no  letter  notifying  him  had  come.  He  would  get  one  to- 
day. It  would  probably  be  on  his  desk  when  he  got  back. 
He  would  look  for  it  at  once. 

After  a  time  he  gave  up  waiting  and  drearily  headed  for 
the  Madison  car.  To  add  to  his  distress,  the  bright  blue 
sky  became  overcast  with  little  fleecy  clouds  which  shut 
out  the  sun.  The  wind  veered  to  the  east,  and  by  the 
time  he  reached  his  office  it  was  threatening  to  drizzle  all 
afternoon. 

He  went  in  and  examined  his  letters,  but  there  was 
nothing  from  Carrie.  Fortunately,  there  was  nothing 
from  his  wife  either.  He  thanked  his  stars  that  he  did 
not  have  to  confront  that  proposition  just  now  when  he 
needed  to  think  so  much.  He  walked  the  floor  again, 
pretending  to  be  in  an  ordinary  mood,  but  secretly  trou- 
bled beyond  the  expression  of  words. 

At  one-thirty  he  went  to  Rector's  for  lunch,  and  when 
he  returned  a  messenger  was  waiting  for  him.  He  looked 
at  the  little  chap  with  a  feeling  of  doubt. 


SISTER  CARRIE  257 

"  I'm  to  bring  an  answer,"  said  the  boy. 

Hurstwood  recognised  his  wife's  writing.  He  tore  it 
open  and  read  without  a  show  of  feeling.  It  began  in  the 
most  formal  manner  and  was  sharply  and  coldly  worded 
throughout. 

"  I  want  you  to  send  the  money  I  asked  for  at  once.  I 
need  it  to  carry  out  my  plans.  You  can  stay  away  if  you 
want  to.  It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least.  But  I  must 
have  some  money.  So  don't  delay,  but  send  it  by  the 
boy." 

When  he  had  finished  it,  he  stood  holding  it  in  his 
hands.  The  audacity  of  the  thing  took  his  breath.  It 
roused  his  ire  also — the  deepest  element  of  revolt  in  him. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  write  but  four  words  in  reply — 
"  Go  to  the  devil !  " — but  he  compromised  by  telling  the 
boy  that  there  would  be  no  reply.  Then  he  sat  down  in 
his  chair  and  gazed  without  seeing,  contemplating  the 
result  of  his  work.  What  would  she  do  about  that  ?  The 
confounded  wretch !  Was  she  going  to  try  to  bulldoze  him 
into  submission?  He  would  go  up  there  and  have  it  out 
with  her,  that's  what  he  would  do.  She  was  carrying 
things  with  too  high  a  hand.  These  were  his  first 
thoughts. 

Later,  however,  his  old  discretion  asserted  itself.  Some- 
thing had  to  be  done.  A  climax  was  near  and  she  would 
not  sit  idle.  He  knew  her  well  enough  to  know  that  when 
she  had  decided  upon  a  plan  she  would  follow  it  up.  Pos- 
sibly matters  would  go  into  a  lawyer's  hands  at  once. 

"  Damn  her  !  "  he  said  softly,  with  his  teeth  firmly  set, 
"  I'll  make  it  hot  for  her  if  she  causes  me  trouble.  I'll 
make  her  change  her  tone  if  I  have  to  use  force  to  do 
it ! " 

He  arose. from  his  chair  and  went  and  looked  out  into 
the  street.  The  long  drizzle  had  begun.  Pedestrians  had 
turned  up  collars,  and  trousers  at  the  bottom.     Hands 

17 


258  SISTER  CARRIE 

were  hidden  in  the  pockets  of  the  umbrellaless ;  umbrellas 
were  up.  The  street  looked  like  a  sea  of  round  black 
cloth  roofs,  twisting,  bobbing,  moving.  Trucks  and  vans 
were  rattling  in  a  noisy  line  and  everywhere  men  were 
shielding  themselves  as  best  they  could.  He  scarcely  no- 
ticed the  picture.  He  was  forever  confronting  his  wife, 
demanding  of  her  to  change  her  attitude  toward  him  be- 
fore he  worked  her  bodily  harm. 

At  four  o'clock  another  note  came,  which  simply  said 
that  if  the  money  was  not  forthcoming  that  evening  the 
matter  would  be  laid  before  Fitzgerald  and  Moy  on  the 
morrow,  and  other  steps  would  be  taken  to  get  it. 

Hurstwood  almost  exclaimed  out  loud  at  the  in- 
sistency of  this  thing.  Yes,  he  would  send  her  the 
money.  He'd  take  it  to  her — he  would  go  up  there  and 
have  a  talk  with  her,  and  that  at  once. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  looked  around  for  his  umbrella. 
He  would  have  some  arrangement  of  this  thing. 

He  called  a  cab  and  was  driven  through  the  dreary  rain 
to  the  North  Side.  On  the  way  his  temper  cooled  as  he 
thought  of  the  details  of  the  case.  What  did  she  know? 
What  had  she  done?  Maybe  she'd  got  hold  of  Carrie, 
who  knows — or — or  Drouet.  Perhaps  she  really  had 
evidence,  and  was  prepared  to  fell  him  as  a  man  does 
another  from  secret  ambush.  She  was  shrewd.  Why 
should  she  taunt  him  this  way  unless  she  had  good 
grounds? 

He  began  to  wish  that  he  had  compromised  in  some 
way  or  other — that  he  had  sent  the  money.  Perhaps  he 
could  do  it  up  here.  He  would  go  in  and  see,  anyhow. 
He  would  have  no  row. 

By  the  time  he  reached  his  own  street  he  was  keenly 
alive  to  the  difficulties  of  his  situation  and  wished  over  and 
over  that  some  solution  would  offer  itself,  that  he  could 
see  his  way  out.     He  alighted  and  went  up  the  steps  to 


SISTER  CARRIE  259 

the  front  door,  but  it  was  with  a  nervous  palpitation  of 
the  heart.  He  pulled  out  his  key  and  tried  to  insert  it, 
but  another  key  was  on  the  inside.  He  shook  at  the  knob, 
but  the  door  was  locked.  Then  he  rang  the  bell.  No 
answer.  He  rang  again — this  time  harder.  Still  no  an- 
swer. He  jangled  it  fiercely  several  times  in  succession, 
but  without  avail.     Then  he  went  below. 

There  was  a  door  which  opened  under  the  steps  into 
the  kitchen,  protected  by  an  iron  grating,  intended  as  a 
safeguard  against  burglars.  When  he  reached  this  he 
noticed  that  it  also  was  bolted  and  that  the  kitchen  win- 
dows were  down.  What  could  it  mean?  He  rang  the 
bell  and  then  waited.  Finally,  seeing  that  no  one  was 
coming,  he  turned  and  went  back  to  his  cab. 

"  I  guess  they've  gone  out,"  he  said  apologetically  to 
the  individual  who  was  biding  his  red  face  in  a  loose  tar- 
paulin rain-coat. 

"  I  saw  a  young  girl  up  in  that  winder,"  returned  the 
cabby. 

Hurstwood  looked,  but  there  was  no  face  there  now. 
He  climbed  moodily  into  the  cab,  relieved  and  distressed. 

So  this  was  the  game,  was  it?  Shut  him  out  and  make 
him  pay.    Well,  by  the  Lord,  that  did  beat  all ! 


CHAPTER   XXV 

ASHES   OF  TINDER:   THE   LOOSING   OF   STAYS 

When  Hurstwood  got  back  to  his  office  again  he  was 
in  a  greater  quandary  than  ever.  Lord,  Lord,  he  thought, 
what  'had  he  got  into?  How  could  things  have  taken 
such  a  violent  turn,  and  so  quickly?  He  could  hardly 
realise  how  it  had  all  come  about.  It  seemed  a  mon- 
strous, unnatural,  unwarranted  condition  which  had  sud- 
denly descended  upon  him  without  his  let  or  hindrance. 

Meanwhile  he  gave  a  thought  now  and  then  to  Carrie. 
What  could  be  the  trouble  in  that  quarter?  No  letter 
had  come,  no  word  of  any  kind,  and  yet  here  it  was  late  in 
the  evening  and  she  had  agreed  to  meet  him  that  morning. 
To-morrow  they  were  to  have  met  and  gone  off — where  ? 
He  saw  that  in  the  excitement  of  recent  events  he  had  not 
formulated  a  plan  upon  that  score.  He  was  desperately 
in  love,  and  would  have  taken  great  chances  to  win  her 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  now — now  what  ?  Sup- 
posing she  had  found  out  something?  Supposing  she,  too, 
wrote  him  and  told  him  that  she  knew  all — -that  she  would 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him  ?  It  would  be  just  like 
this  to  happen  as  things  were  going  now.  Meanwhile  he 
had  not  sent  the  money. 

He  strolled  up  and  down  the  polished  floor  of  the  re- 
sort, his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  brow  wrinkled,  his 
mouth  set.  He  was  getting  some  vague  comfort  out  of  a 
good  cigar,  but  it  was  no  panacea  for  the  ill  which  affected 
him.     Every  once  in  a  while  he  would  clinch  his  fingers 


SISTER  CARRIE  261 

and  tap  his  foot — signs  of  the  stirring  mental  process  he 
was  undergoing.  His  whole  nature  was  vigorously  and 
powerfully  shaken  up,  and  he  was  finding  what  limits  the 
mind  has  to  endurance.  He  drank  more  brandy  and  soda 
than  he  had  any  evening  in  months.  He  was  altogether 
a  fine  example  of  great  mentalperturbation. 

For  all  his  study  nothing  came  of  the  evening  except 
this — he  sent  the  money.  It  was  with  great  opposition, 
after  two  or  three  hours  of  the  most  urgent  mental  affirma- 
tion and  denial,  that  at  last  he  got  an  envelope,  placed  in 
it  the  requested  amount,  and  slowly  sealed  it  up. 

Then  he  called  Harry,  the  boy  of  all  work  around  the 
place. 

"  You  take  this  to  this  address,"  he  said,  handing  him 
the  envelope,  "  and  give  it  to  Mrs.  Hurstwood." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"  If  she  isn't  there  bring  it  back." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You've  seen  my  wife?"  he  asked  as  a  precautionary 
measure  as  the  boy  turned  to  go. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir.     I  know  her." 

"  All  right,  now.     Hurry  right  back." 

"  Any  answer?  " 

"  I  guess  not." 

The  boy  hastened  away  and  the  manager  fell  to  his  mus- 
ings. Now  he  had  done  it.  There  was  no  use  speculat- 
ing over  that.  He  was  beaten  for  to-night  and  he  might 
just  as  well  make  the  best  of  it.  But,  oh,  the  wretched- 
ness of  being  forced  this  way!  He  could  see  her  meeting 
the  boy  at  the  door  and  smiling  sardonically.  She  would 
take  the  envelope  and  know  that  she  had  triumphed.  If 
he  only  had  that  letter  back  he  wouldn't  send  it.  He 
breathed  heavily  and  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  face. 

For  relief,  he  arose  and  joined  in  conversation  with  a 
few  friends  who  were  drinking.     He  tried  to  get  the  in- 


262  SISTER  CARRIE 

terest  of  things  about  him,  but  it  was  not  to  be.  All  the 
time  his  thoughts  would  run  out  to  his  home  and  see  the 
scene  being  therein  enacted.  All  the  time  he  was  won- 
dering what  she  would  say  when  the  boy  handed  her  the 
envelope. 

In  about  an  hour  and  three-quarters  the  boy  returned. 
He  had  evidently  delivered  the  package,  for,  as  he  came 
up,  he  made  no  sign  of  taking  anything  out  of  his  pocket. 

"Well?"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  I  gave  it  to  her." 

"  My  wife?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Any  answer?  " 

"  She  said  it  was  high  time." 

Hurstwood  scowled  fiercely. 

There  was  no  more  to  be  done  upon  that  score  that 
night.  He  went  on  brooding  over  his  situation  until  mid- 
night, when  he  repaired  again  to  the  Palmer  House.  He 
wondered  What  the  morning  would  bring  forth,  and  slept 
anything  but  soundly  upon  it. 

Next  day  he  went -again  to  the  office  and  opened  his 
mail,  suspicious  and  hopeful  of  its  contents.  No  word 
from  Carrie.     Nothing  from  his  wife,  which  was  pleasant. 

The  fact  that  he  had  sent  the  money  and  that  she  had 
received  it  worked  to  the  ease  of  his  mind,  for,  as  the 
thought  that  he  had  done  it  receded,  his  chagrin  at  it 
grew  less  and  his  hope  of  peace  more.  He  fancied,  as  he 
sat  at  his  desk,  that  nothing  would  be  done  for  a  week  or 
two.     Meanwhile,  he  would  have  time  to  think.  . 

This  process  of  thinking  began  by  a  reversion  to  Carrie 
and  the  arrangement  by  which  he  was  to  get  her  away 
from  Drouet.  How  about  that  now?  His  pain  at  her 
failure  to  meet  or  write  him  rapidly  increased  as  he  de- 
voted himself  to  this  subject.  He  decided  to  write  her 
care  of  the  West  Side  Post-office  and  ask  for  an  explana- 


SISTER  CARRIE  263 

tion,  as  well  as  to  have  her  meet  him.  The  thought  that 
this  letter  would  probably  not  reach  her  until  Monday 
chafed  him  exceedingly.  He  must  get  some  speedier 
method — but  how? 

He  thought  upon  it  for  a  half-hour,  not  contemplating 
a  messenger  or  a  cab  direct  to  the  house,  owing  to  the 
exposure  of  it,  but  finding  that  time  was  slipping  away 
to  no  purpose,  he  wrote  the  letter  and  then  began  to  think 
again. 

The  hours  slipped  by,  and  with  them  the  possibility  of 
the  union  he  had  contemplated.  He  had  thought  to  be  joy- 
ously aiding  Carrie  by  now  in  the  task  of  joining  her  in- 
terests to  his,  and  here  it  was  afternoon  and  nothing  done. 
Three  o'clock  came,  four,  five,  six,  and  no  letter.  The 
helpless  manager  paced  the  floor  and  grimly  endured  the 
gloom  of  defeat.  He  saw  a  busy  Saturday  ushered  out, 
the  Sabbath  in,  and  nothing  done.  All  day,  the  bar  being 
closed,  he  brooded  alone,  shut  out  from  home,  from  the 
excitement  of  his  resort,  from  Carrie,  and  without  the 
ability  to  alter  his  condition  one  iota.  It  was  the  worst 
Sunday  he  had  spent  in  his  life. 

In  Monday's  second  mail  he  encountered  a  very  legal- 
looking  letter,  which  held  his  interest  for  some  time.-  It 
bore  the  imprint  of  the  law  offices  of  McGregor,  James 
and  Hay,  and  with  a  very  formal  "  Dear  Sir,"  and  "  We 
beg  to  state,"  went  on  to  inform  him  briefly  that  they  had 
been  retained  by  Mrs.  Julia  Hurstwood  to  adjust  certain 
matters  which  related  to  her  sustenance  and  property 
rights,  and  would  he  kindly  call  and  see  them  about  the 
matter  at  once. 

He  read  it  through  carefully  several  times,  and  then 
merely  shook  his  head.  It  seemed  as  if  his  family  troubles 
were  just  beginning. 

"  Well!  "  he  said  after  a  time,  quite  audibly,  "  I  don't 
know," 


264  SISTER  CARRIE 

Then  he  folded  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

To  add  to  his  misery  there  was  no  word  from  Carrie. 
He  was  quite  certain  now  that  she  knew  he  was  married 
and  was  angered  at  his  perfidy.  His  loss  seemed  all  the 
more  bitter  now  that  he  needed  her  most.  He  thought 
he  would  go  out  and  insist  on  seeing  her  if  she  did  not 
send  him  word  of  some  sort  soon.  He  was  really  affected 
most  miserably  of  all  by  this  desertion.  He  had  loved  her 
earnestly  enough,  but  now  that  the  possibility  of  losing 
her  stared  him  in  the  face  she  seemed  much  more  at- 
tractive. He  really  pined  for  a  word,  and  looked  out  upon 
her  with  his  mind's  eye  in  the  most  wistful  manner.  He 
did  not  propose  to  lose  her,  whatever  she  might  think. 
Come  what  might,  he  would  adjust  this  matter,  and  soon. 
He  would  go  to  her  and  tell  her  all  his  family  complica- 
tions. He  would  explain  to  her  just  where  he  stood  and 
how  much  he  needed  her.  Surely  she  couldn't  go  back 
on  him  now?  It  wasn't  possible.  He  would  plead  until 
her  anger  would  melt — Until  she  would  forgive  him. 

Suddenly  he  thought:  "  Supposing  she  isn't  out  there — 
suppose  she  has  gone?  " 

He  was  forced  to  take  his  feet.  It  was  too  much  to 
think  of  and  sit  still. 

Nevertheless,  his  rousing  availed  him  nothing. 

On  Tuesday  it  was  the  same  way.  He  did  manage  to 
bring  himself  into  the  mood  to  go  out  to  Carrie,  but  when 
he  got  in  Ogden  Place  he  thought  he  saw  a  man  watch- 
ing him  and  went  away.  He  did  not  go  within  a  block  of 
the  house. 

One  of  the  galling  incidents  of  this  visit  was  that  he 
came  back  on  a  Randolph  Street  car,  and  without  noticing 
arrived  almost  opposite  the  building  of  the  concern  with 
which  his  son  was  connected.  This  sent  a  pang  through 
his  heart.  He  had  called  on  his  boy  there  several  times. 
Now  the  lad  had  not  sent  him  a  word.     His  absence  did 


SISTER  CARRIE  26$ 

not  seem  to  be  noticed  by  either  of  his  children.  Well, 
well,  fortune  plays  a  man  queer  tricks.  He  got  back  to 
his  office  and  joined  in  a  conversation  with  friends.  It 
was  as  if  idle  chatter  deadened  the  sense  of  misery. 

That  night  he  dined  at  Rector's  and  returned  at  once 
to  his  office.  In  the  bustle  and  show  of  the  latter  was  his 
only  relief.  He  troubled  over  many  little  details  and 
talked  perfunctorily  to  everybody.  He  stayed  at  his  desk 
long  after  all  others  had  gone,  and  only  quitted  it  when 
the  night  watchman  on  his  round  pulled  at  the  front  door 
to  see  if  it  was  safely  locked. 

On  Wednesday  he  received  another  polite  note  from 
McGregor,  James  and  Hay.     It  read: 

"Dear  Sir :  We  beg  to  inform  you  that  we  are  instructed  to 
wait  until  to-morrow  (Thursday)  at  one  o'clock,  before  filing  suit 
against  you,  on  behalf  of  Mrs.  Julia  Hurstwood,  for  divorce  and 
alimony.  If  we  do  not  hear  from  you  before  that  time  we  shall 
consider  that  you  do  not  wish  to  compromise  the  matter  in  any 
way  and  act  accordingly. 

"  Very  truly  yours,  etc." 

"  Compromise  ! "  exclaimed  Hurstwood  bitterly. 
"  Compromise!  " 

Again  he  shook  his  head. 

So  here  it  was  spread  out  clear  before  him,  and  now  he 
knew  what  to  expect.  If  he  didn't  go  and  see  them  they 
would  sue  him  promptly.  If  he  did,  he  would  be  offered 
terms  that  would  make  his  blood  boil.  He  folded  the  let- 
ter and  put  it  with  the  other  one.  Then  he  put  on  his  hat 
and  went  for  a  turn  about  the  block. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE   AMBASSADOR    FALLEN:    A    SEARCH    FOR    THE    GATE 

Carrie,  left  alone  by  Drouet,  listened  to  his  retreating 
steps,  scarcely  realising  what  had  happened.  She  knew 
that  he  had  stormed  out.  It  was  some  moments  before 
she  questioned  whether  he  would  return,  not  now  exactly, 
but  ever.  She  looked  around  her  upon  the  rooms,  out  of 
which  the  evening  light  was  dying,  and  wondered  why 
she  did  not  feel  quite  the  same  towards  them.  She  went 
over  to  the  dresser  and  struck  a  match,  lighting  the  gas. 
Then  she  went  back  to  the  rocker  to  think. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  could  collect  her  thoughts, 
but  when  she  did,  this  truth  began  to  take  on  importance. 
She  was  quite  alone.  Suppose  Drouet  did  not  come  back  ? 
Suppose  she  should  never  hear  anything  more  of  him? 
This  fine  arrangement  of  chambers  would  not  last  long. 
She  would  have  to  quit  them. 

To  her  credit,  be  it  said,  she  never  once  counted  on 
Hurstwood.  She  could  only  approach  that  subject  with 
a  pang  of  sorrow  and  regret.  For  a  truth,  she  was  rather 
shocked  and  frightened  by  this  evidence  of  human  de- 
pravity. He  would  have  tricked  her  without  turning  an 
eyelash.  She  would  have  been  led  into  a  newer  and  worse 
situation.  And  yet  she  could  not  keep  out  the  pictures 
of  his  looks  and  manners.  Only  this  one  deed  seemed 
strange  and  miserable.  It  contrasted  sharply  with  all  she 
felt  and  knew  concerning  the  man. 

But  she  was  alone.  That  was  the  greater  thought  just 
at  present.     How  about  that?    Would  she  go  out  to 


SISTER  CARRIE  267 

work  again?  Would  she  begin  to  look  around  in  the 
business  district?  The  stage!  Oh,  yes.  Drouet  Had 
spoken  about  that.  Was  there  any  hope  there?  She 
moved  to  and  fro,  in  deep  and  varied  thoughts,  while  the 
minutes  slipped  away  and  night  fell  completely.  She  had 
had  nothing  to  eat,  and  yet  there  she  sat,  thinking  it  over. 

She  remembered  that  she  was  hungry  and  went  to  the 
little  cupboard  in  the  rear  room  where  were  the  remains 
of  one  of  their  breakfasts.  She  looked  at  these  things 
with  certain  misgivings.  The  contemplation  of  food  had 
more  significance  than  usual. 

While  she  was  eating  she  began  to  wonder  how  much 
money  she  had.  It  struck  her  as  exceedingly  important, 
and  without  ado  she  went  to  look  for  her  purse.  It  was 
on  the  dresser,  and  in  it  were  seven  dollars  in  bills  and 
some  change.  She  quailed  as  she  thought  of  the  insig- 
nificance of  the  amount  and  rejoiced  because  the  rent  was 
paid  until  the  end  of  the  month.  She  began  also  to  think 
what  she  would  have  done  if  she  had  gone  out  into  the 
street  when  she  first  started.  By  the  side  of  that  situa- 
tion, as  she  looked  at  it  now,  the  present  seemed  agree- 
able. She  had  a  little  time  at  least,  and  then,  perhaps, 
everything  would  come  out  all  right,  after  all. 

Drouet  had  gone,  but  what  of  it?  He  did  not  seem 
seriously  angry.  He  only  acted  as  if  he  were  huffy.  He 
would  come  back — of  course  he  would.  There  was  his 
cane  in  the  corner.  Here  was  one  of  his  collars.  He  had 
left  his  light  overcoat  in  the  wardrobe.  She  looked  about 
and  tried  to  assure  herself  with  the  sight  of  a  dozen  such 
details,  but,  alas,  the  secondary  thought  arrived.  Sup- 
posing he  did  come  back.    Then  what? 

Here  was  another  proposition  nearly,  if  not  quite,  as 
disturbing.  She  would  have  to  talk  with  and  explain  to 
him.  He  would  want  her  to  admit  that  he  was  right.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  her  to  live  with  him. 


268  SISTER  CARRIE 

On  Friday  Carrie  remembered  her  appointment  with 
Hurstwood,  and  the  passing  of  the  hour  when  she  should, 
by  all  right  of  promise,  have  been  in  his  company  served 
to  keep  the  calamity  which  had  befallen  her  exceedingly 
fresh  and  clear.  In  her  nervousness  and  stress  of  mind 
she  felt  it  necessary  to  act,  and  consequently  put  on 
a  brown  street  dress,  and  at  eleven  o'clock  started  to 
visit  the  business  portion  once  again.  She  must  look 
for  work. 

The  rain,  which  threatened  at  twelve  and  began  at  one, 
served  equally  well  to  cause  her  to  retrace  her  steps 
and  remain  within  doors  as  it  did  to  reduce  Hurstwood's 
spirits  and  give  him  a  wretched  day. 

The  morrow  was  Saturday,  a  half-holiday  in  many  busi- 
ness quarters,  and  besides  it  was  a  balmy,  radiant  day,  with 
the  trees  and  grass  shining  exceedingly  green  after  the 
rain  of  the  night  before.  When  she  went  out  the  sparrows 
were  twittering  merrily  in  joyous  choruses.  She  could 
not  help  feeling,  as  she  looked  across  the  lovely  park,  that 
life  was  a  joyous  thing  for  those  who  did  not  need  to 
worry,  and  she  wished  over  and  over  that  something 
might  interfere  now  to  preserve  for  her  the  comfortable 
state  which  she  had  occupied.  She  did  not  want  Drouet 
or  his  money  when  she  thought  of  it,  nor  anything  more 
to  do  with  Hurstwood,  but  only  the  content  and  ease  of 
mind  she  had  experienced,  for,  after  all,  she  had  been 
happy — happier,  at  least,  than  she  was  now  when  con- 
fronted by  the  necessity  of  making  her  way  alone. 

When  she  arrived  in  the  business  part  it  was  quite 
eleven  o'clock,  and  the  business  had  little  longer  to  run. 
She  did  not  realise  this  at  first,  being  affected  by  some  of 
the  old  distress  which  was  a  result  of  her  earlier  adventure 
into  this  strenuous  and  exacting  quarter.  She  wandered 
about,  assuring  herself  that  she  was  making  up  her  mind 
to  look  for  something,  and  at  the  same  time  feeling  that 


SISTER  CARRIE  269 

perhaps  it  was  not  necessary  to  be  in  such  haste  about  it. 
The  thing  was  difficult  to  encounter,  and  she  had  a  few 
days.  Besides,  she  was  not  sure  that  she  was  really  face 
to  face  again  with  the  bitter  problem  of  self-sustenance. 
Anyhow,  there  was  one  change  for  the  better.  She  knew 
that  she  had  improved  in  appearance.  Her  manner  had 
vastly  changed.  Her  clothes  were  becoming,  and  men 
— well-dressed  men,  some  of  the  kind  who  before  had 
gazed  at  her  indifferently  from  behind  their  polished  rail- 
ings and  imposing  office  partitions — now  gazed  into  her 
face  with  a  soft  light  in  their  eyes.  In  a  way,  she  felt  the 
power  and  satisfaction  of  the  thing,  but  it  did  not  wholly 
reassure  her.  She  looked  for  nothing  save  what  might 
come  legitimately  and  without  the  appearance  of  special 
favour.  She  wanted  something,  but  no  man  should  buy 
her  by  false  protestations  or  favour.  She  proposed  to 
earn  her  living  honestly. 

"  This  store  closes  at  one  on  Saturdays,"  was  a  pleasing 
and  satisfactory  legend  to  see  upon  doors  which  she  felt 
she  ought  to  enter  and  inquire  for  work.  It  gave  her  an 
excuse,  and  after  encountering  quite  a  number  of  them, 
and  noting  that  the  clock  registered  12.15,  she  decided 
that  it  would  be  no  use  to  seek  further  to-day,  so  she  got 
on  a  car  and  went  to  Lincoln  Park.  There  was  always 
something  to  see  there — the  flowers,  the  animals,  the  lake 
— and  she  flattered  herself  that  on  Monday  she  would  be 
up  betimes  and  searching.  Besides,  many  things  might 
happen  between  now  and  Monday. 

Sunday  passed  with  equal  doubts,  worries,  assurances, 
and  heaven  knows  what  vagaries  of  mind  and  spirit. 
Every  half-hour  in  the  day  the  thought  would  come  to  her 
most  sharply,  like  the  tail  of  a  swishing  whip,  that  action 
— immediate  action — was  imperative.  At  other  times  she 
would  look  about  her  and  assure  herself  that  things  were 
not  so  bad— -4hat  certainly  she  would  come  out  safe  and 


2-jo  SISTER  CARRIE 

sound.  At  such  times  she  would  think  of  Drouet's  ad- 
vice about  going  on  the  stage,  and  saw  some  chance  for 
herself  in  that  quarter.  She  decided  to  take  up  that  op- 
portunity on  the  morrow. 

Accordingly,  she  arose  early  Monday  morning  and 
dressed  herself  carefully.  She  did  not  know  just  how  such 
applications  were  made,  but  she  took  it  to  be  a  matter 
which  related  more  directly  to  the  theatre  buildings.  All 
you  had  to  do  was  to  inquire  of  some  one  about  the 
theatre  for  the  manager  and  ask  for  a  position.  If  there 
was  anything,  you  might  get  it,  or,  at  least,  he  could  tell 
you  how. 

She  had  had  no  experience  with  this  class  of  individuals 
whatsoever,  and  did  not  know  the  salacity  and  humour  of 
the  theatrical  tribe.  She  only  knew  of  the  position  which 
Mr.  Hale  occupied,  but,  of  all  things,  she  did  not  wish 
to  encounter  that  personage,  on  account  of  her  intimacy 
with  his  wife. 

There  was,  however,  at  this  time,  one  theatre,  the 
Chicago  Opera  House,  which  was  considerably  in  the 
public  eye,  and  its  manager,  David  A.  Henderson,  had  a 
fair  local  reputation.  Carrie  had  seen  one  or  two  elabo- 
rate performances  there  and  had  heard  of  several  others. 
She  knew  nothing  of  Henderson  nor  of  the  methods  of 
applying,  but  she  instinctively  felt  that  this  would  be  a 
likely  place,  and  accordingly  strolled  about  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood. She  came  bravely  enough  to  the  showy  en- 
trance way,  with  the  polished  and  begilded  lobby,  set  with 
framed  pictures  out  of  the  current  attraction,  leading  up  to 
the  quiet  box-office,  but  she  could  get  no  further.  A 
noted  comic  opera  comedian  was  holding  forth  that  week, 
and  the  air  of  distinction  and  prosperity  overawed  her. 
She  could  not  imagine  that  there  would  be  anything  in 
such  a  lofty  sphere  for  her.  She  almost  trembled  at  the 
audacity  which  might  have  carried  her  on  to  a  terrible 


SISTER  CARRIE  27 1 

rebuff.  She  could  find  heart  only  to  look  at  the  pictures 
which  were  showy  and  then  walk  out.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  had  made  a  splendid  escape  and  that  it  would  be 
foolhardy  to  think  of  applying  in  that  quarter  again. 

This  little  experience  settled  her  hunting  for  one  day. 
She  looked  around  elsewhere,  but  it  was  from  the  outside. 
She  got  the  location  of  several  playhouses  fixed  in  her 
mind — notably  the  Grand  Opera  House  and  McVickar's, 
both  of  which  were  leading  in  attractions — and  then  came 
away.  Her  spirits  were  materially  reduced,  owing  to  the 
newly  restored  sense  of  magnitude  of  the  great  interests 
and  the  insignificance  of  her  claims  upon  society,  such  as 
she  understood  them  to  be. 

That  night  she  was  visited  by  Mrs.  Hale,  whose  chatter 
and  protracted  stay  made  it  impossible  to  dwell  upon  her 
predicament  or  the  fortune  of  the  day.  Before  retiring, 
however,  she  sat  down  to  think,  and  gave  herself  up  .to 
the  most  gloomy  forebodings.  Drouet  had  not  put  in 
an  appearance.  She  had  had  no  word  from  any  quarter, 
she  had  spent  a  dollar  of  her  precious  sum  in  procuring 
food  and  paying  car  fare.  It  was  evident  that  she  would 
not  endure  long.  Besides,  she  had  discovered  no  resource. 

In  this  situation  her  thoughts  went  out  to  her  sister  in 
Van  Buren  Street,  whom  she  had  not  seen  since  the  night 
of  her  flight,  and  to  her  home  at  Columbia  City,  which 
seemed  now  a  part  of  something  that  could  not  be  again. 
She  looked  for  no  refuge  in  that  direction.  Nothing  but 
sorrow  was  brought  her  by  thoughts  of  Hurstwood,  which 
would  return.  That  he  could  have  chosen  to  dupe  her  in 
so  ready  a  manner  seemed  a  cruel  thing. 

Tuesday  came,  and  with  it  appropriate  indecision  and 
speculation.  She  was  in  no  mood,  after  her  failure  of  the 
day  before,  to  hasten  forth  upon  her  work-seeking  errand, 
and  yet  she  rebuked  herself  for  what  she  considered  her 
weakness  the  day  before.     Accordingly  she  started  out  to 


2^2  SISTER  CARRIE 

revisit  the  Chicago  Opera  House,  but  possessed  scarcely 
enough  courage  to  approach. 

She  did  manage  to  inquire  at  the  box-office,  however. 

"  Manager  of  the  company  or  the  house  ?  "  asked  the 
smartly  dressed  individual  who  took  care  of  the  tickets. 
He  was  favourably  impressed  by  Carrie's  looks. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie,  taken  back  by  the  question. 

"  You  couldn't  see  the  manager  of  the  house  to-day, 
anyhow,"  volunteered  the  young  man.  "  He's  out  of 
town." 

He  noted  her  puzzled  look,  and  then  added:  '•  What  is 
it  you  wish  to  see  about?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  about  getting  a  position,"  she  answered. 

"  You'd  better  see  the  manager  of  the  company,"  he 
returned,  "  but  he  isn't  here  now." 

"  When  will  he  be  in  ?  "  asked  Carrie,  somewhat  re- 
lieved by  this  information. 

"  Well,  you  might  find  him  in  between  eleven  and 
twelve.     He's  here  after  two  o'clock." 

Carrie  thanked  him  and  walked  briskly  out,  while  the 
young  man  gazed  after  her  through  one  of  the  side  win- 
dows of  his  gilded  coop. 

"  Good-looking,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  proceeded  to 
visions  of  condescensions  on  her  part  which  were  exceed- 
ingly nattering  to  himself. 

One  of  the  principal  comedy  companies  of  the  day  was 
playing  an  engagement  at  the  Grand  Opera  House.  Here 
Carrie  asked  to  see  the  manager  of  the  company.  She 
little  knew  the  trivial  authority  of  this  individual,  or  that 
had  there  been  a  vacancy  an  actor  would  have  been  sent 
on  from  New  York  to  fill  it. 

"  His  office  is  upstairs,"  said  a  man  in  the  box-office. 

Several  persons  were  in  the  manager's  office,  two  loung- 
ing near  a  window,  another  talking  to  an  individual  sit- 
ting at  a  roll-top  desk — the  manager.     Carrie  glanced 


SISTER  CARRIE  273 

nervously  about,  and  began  to  fear  that  she  should  have  to 
make  her  appeal  before  the  assembled  company,  two  of 
whom — the  occupants  of  the  window — were  already  ob- 
serving her  carefully. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  the  manager  was  saying;  "  it's  a  rule 
of  Mr.  Frohman's  never  to  allow  visitors  back  of  the  stage. 
No,  no!" 

Carrie  timidly  waited,  standing.  There  were  chairs,  but 
no  one  motioned  her  to  be  seated.  The  individual  to 
whom  the  manager  had  been  talking  went  away  quite 
crestfallen.  That  luminary  gazed  earnestly  at  some  papers 
before  him,  as  if  they  were  of  the  greatest  concern. 

"  Did  you  see  that  in  the  '  Herald  '  this  morning  about 
Nat  Goodwin,  Harris?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  person  addressed.     "  What  was  it?  " 

"  Made  quite  a  curtain  address  at  Hooley's  last  night. 
Better  look  it  up." 

Harris  reached  over  to  a  table  and  began  to  look  for 
the  "■  Herald." 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  the  manager  to  Carrie,  apparently 
noticing  her  for  the  first  time.  He  thought  he  was  going 
to  be  held  up  for  free  tickets. 

Carrie  summoned  up  all  her  courage,  which  was  little  at 
best.  She  realised  that  she  was  a  novice,  and  felt  as  if 
a  rebuff  were  certain.  Of  this  she  was  so  sure  that  she 
only  wished  now  to  pretend  she  had  called  for  advice. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  how  to  go  about  getting  on  the 
stage?  " 

It  was  the  best  way  after  all  to  have  gone  about  the 
matter.  She  was  interesting,  in  a  manner,  to  the  occu- 
pant of  the  chair,  and  the  simplicity  of  her  request  and 
attitude  took  his  fancy.  He  smiled,  as  did  the  others 
in  the  room,  who,  however,  made  some  slight  effort  to 
conceal  their  humour. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  looking  her  brazenly 
18 


274  SISTER  CARRIE 

over.  "  Have  you  ever  had  any  experience  upon  the 
stage?" 

"  A  little,"  answered  Carrie.  "  I  have  taken  part  in 
amateur  performances." 

She  thought  she  had  to  make  some  sort  of  showing  in 
order  to  retain  his  interest. 

"  Never  studied  for  the  stage?  "  he  said,  putting  on  an 
air  intended  as  much  to  impress  his  friends  with  his  dis- 
cretion as  Carrie. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  tipping  lazily  back 
in  his  chair  while  she  stood  before  him.  "  What  makes 
you  want  to  get  on  the  stage  ?  " 

She  felt  abashed  at  the  man's  daring,  but  could  only 
smile  in  answer  to  his  engaging  smirk,  and  say: 

"  I  need  to  make  a  living." 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  rather  taken  by  her  trim  appear- 
ance, and  feeling  as  if  he  might  scrape  up  an  acquaintance 
with  her.  "  That's  a  good  reason,  isn't  it?  Well,  Chi- 
cago is  not  a  good  place  for  what  you  want  to  do.  You 
ought  to  be  in  New  York.  There's  more  chance  there. 
You  could  hardly  expect  to  get  started  out  here." 

Carrie  smiled  genially,  grateful  that  he  should  conde- 
scend to  advise  her  even  so  much.  He  noticed  the 
smile,  and  put  a  slightly  different  construction  on  it. 
He  thought  he  saw  an  easy  chance  for  a  little  flirtation. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  pulling  a  chair  forward  from  the 
side  of  his  desk  and  dropping  his  voice  so  that  the  two 
men  in  the  room  should  not  hear.  Those  two  gave  each 
other  the  suggestion  of  a  wink. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  going,  Barney,"  said  one,  breaking  away 
and  so  addressing  the  manager.  "  See  you  this  after- 
noon." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  manager. 

The  remaining  individual  took  up  a  paper  as  if  to  read. 


SISTER  CARRIE  275 

"  Did  you  have  any  idea  what  sort  of  part  you  would 
like  to  get?  "  asked  the  manager  softly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  would  take  anything  to 
begin  with." 

"  I  see,"  he  said.     "  Do  you  live  here  in  the  city?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  manager  smiled  most  blandly. 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  to  get  in  as  a  chorus  girl?"  he 
asked,  assuming  a  more  confidential  air. 

Carrie  began  to  feel  that  there  was  something  exuberant 
and  unnatural  in  his  manner. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  That's  the  way  most  girls  begin,"  he  went  on,  "  who 
go  on  the  stage.     It's  a  good  way  to  get  experience." 

He  was  turning  on  her  a  glance  of  the  companionable 
and  persuasive  manner. 

"  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Carrie. 

"  It's  a  difficult  thing,"  he  went  on,  "  but  there's  al- 
ways a  chance,  you  know."  Then,  as  if  he  suddenly  re- 
membered, he  pulled  out  his  watch  and  consulted  it. 
"  I've  an  appointment  at  two,"  he  said,  "  and  I've  got  to 
go  to  lunch  now.  Would  you  care  to  come  and  dine  with 
me?     We  can  talk  it  over  there." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Carrie,  the  whole  motive  of  the  man 
flashing  on  her  at  once.     "  I  have  an  engagement  myself." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  he  said,  realising  that  he  had  been  a 
little  beforehand  in  his  offer  and  that  Carrie  was  about 
to  go  away.  "  Come  in  later.  I  may  know  of  some- 
thing." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered,  with  some  trepidation, 
and  went  out. 

"  She  was  good-looking,  wasn't  she?  "  said  the  mana- 
ger's companion,  who  had  not  caught  all  the  details  of  the 
game  he  had  played. 

"  Yes,  in  a  way,"  said  the  other,  sore  to  think  the  game 


276  SISTER  CARRIE 

had  been  lost.  "  She'd  never  make  an  actress,  though. 
Just  another  chorus  girl — that's  all." 

This  little  experience  nearly  destroyed  her  ambition  to 
call  upon  the  manager  at  the  Chicago  Opera  House,  but 
she  decided  to  do  so  after  a  time.  He  was  of  a  more 
sedate  turn  of  mind.  He  said  at  once  that  there  was 
no  opening  of  any  sort,  and  seemed  to  consider  her 
search  foolish. 

"  Chicago  is  no  place  to  get  a  start,"  he  said.  "  You 
ought  to  be  in  New  York." 

Still  she  persisted,  and  went  to  McVickar's,  where  she 
could  not  find  any  one.  "  The  Old  Homestead  "  was  run- 
ning there,  but  the  person  to  whom  she  was  referred  was 
not  to  be  found. 

These  little  expeditions  took  up  her  time  until  quite  four 
o'clock,  when  she  was  weary  enough  to  go  home.  She 
felt  as  if  she  ought  to  continue  and  inquire  elsewhere,  but 
the  results  so  far  were  too  dispiriting.  She  took  the  car 
and  arrived  at  Ogden  Place  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 
but  decided  to  ride  on  to  the  West  Side  branch  of  the 
Post-office,  where  she  was  accustomed  to  receive  Hurst- 
wood's  letters.  There  was  one  there  now,  written  Satur- 
day, which  she  tore  open  and  read  with  mingled  feelings. 
There  was  so  much  warmth  in  it  and  such  tense  complaint 
at  her  having  failed  to  meet  him,  and  her  subsequent  si- 
lence, that  she  rather  pitied  the  man.  That  he  loved  her 
was  evident  enough.  That  he  had  wished  and  dared  to 
do  so,  married  as  he  was,  was  the  evil.  She  felt  as  if  the 
thing  deserved  an  answer,  and  consequently  decided  that 
she  would  write  and  let  him  know  that  she  knew  of  his 
married  state  and  was  justly  incensed  at  his  deception. 
She  would  tell  him  that  it  was  all  over  between  them. 

At  her  room,  the  wording  of  this  missive  occupied  her 
for  some  time,  for  she  fell  to  the  task  at  once.  It  was  most 
difficult. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


277 


"  You  do  not  need  to  have  me  explain  why  I  did  not  meet 
you,"  she  wrote  in  part.  "  How  could  you  deceive  me  so  ?  You 
cannot  expect  me  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  you.  I 
wouldn't  under  any  circumstances.  Oh,  how  could  you  act 
so  ?  "  she  added  in  a  burst  of  feeling.  "  You  have  caused  me 
more  misery  than  you  can  think.  I  hope  you  will  get  over  your 
infatuation  for  me.     We  must  not  meet  any  more.     Good-bye." 

She  took  the  letter  the  next  morning,  and  at  the  corner 
dropped  it  reluctantly  into  the  letter-box,  still  uncertain 
as  to  whether  she  should  do  so  or  not.  Then  she  took  the 
car  and  went  down  town. 

This  was  the  dull  season  with  the  department  stores, 
but  she  was  listened  to  with  more  consideration  than  was 
usually  accorded  to  young  women  applicants,  owing  to 
her  neat  and  attractive  appearance.  She  was  asked  the 
same  old  questions  with  which  she  was  already  familiar. 

"  What  can  you  do?  Have  you  ever  worked  in  a  re- 
tail store  before?    Are  you  experienced?  " 

At  The  Fair,  See  and  Company's,  and  all  the  great 
stores  it  was  much  the  same.  It  was  the  dull  season, 
she  might  come  in  a  little  later,  possibly  they  would 
like  to  have  her. 

When  she  arrived  at  the  house  at  the  end  of  the  day, 
weary  and  disheartened,  she  discovered  that  Drouet  had 
been  there.  His  umbrella  and  light  overcoat  were  gone. 
She  thought  she  missed  other  things,  but  could  not  be 
sure.     Everything  had  not  been  taken. 

So  his  going  was  crystallising  into  staying.  What  was 
she  to  do  now?  Evidently  she  would  be  facing  the  world 
in  the  same  old  way  within  a  day  or  two.  Her  clothes 
would  get  poor.  She  put  her  two  hands  together  in  her 
customary  expressive  way  and  pressed  her  fingers.  Large 
tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  broke  hot  across  her  cheeks. 
She  was  alone,  very  much  alone. 

Drouet  really  had  called,  but  it  was  with  a  very  different 


278  SISTER  CARRIE 

mind  from  that  which  Carrie  had  imagined.  He  expected 
to  find  her,  to  justify  his  return  by  claiming  that  he  came 
to  get  the  remaining  portion  of  his  wardrobe,  and  before 
he  got  away  again  to  patch  up  a  peace. 

Accordingly,  when  he  arrived,  he  was  disappointed  to 
find  Carrie  out.  He  trifled  about,  hoping  that  she  was 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  and  would  soon  return. 
He  constantly  listened,  expecting  to  hear  her  foot  on  the 
stair. 

When  he  did  so,  it  was  his  intention  to  make  believe 
that  he  had  just  come  in  and  was  disturbed  at  being 
caught.  Then  he  would  explain  his  need  of  his  clothes 
and  find  out  how  things  stood. 

Wait  as  he  did,  however,  Carrie  did  not  come.  From 
pottering  around  among  the  drawers,  in  momentary  ex- 
pectation of  her  arrival,  he  changed  to  looking  out  of  the 
window,  and  from  that  to  resting  himself  in  the  rocking- 
chair.  Still  no  Carrie.  He  began  to  grow  restless  and  lit 
a  cigar.  After  that  he  walked  the  floor.  Then  he  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  saw  clouds  gathering.  He  remem- 
bered an  appointment  at  three.  He  began  to  think  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  wait,  and  got  hold  of  his  umbrella  and 
light  coat,  intending  to  take  these  'things,  any  way.  It 
would  scare  her,  he  hoped.  To-morrow  he  would  come 
back  for  the  others.    He  would  find  out  how  things  stood. 

As  he  started  to  go  he  felt  truly  sorry  that  he  had  missed 
her.  There  was  a  little  picture  of  her  on  the  wall,  showing 
her  arrayed  in  the  little  jacket  he  had  first  bought  her — 
her  face  a  little  more  wistful  than  he  had  seen  it  lately. 
He  was  really  touched  by  it,  and  looked  into  the  eyes  of  it 
with  a  rather  rare  feeling  for  him. 

"  You  didn't  do  me  right,  Cad,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were 
addressing  her  in  the  flesh. 

Then  he  went  to  the  door,  took  a  good  look  around, 
and  went  out. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

WHEN    WATERS    ENGULF    US   WE    REACH    FOR   A    STAR 

It  was  when  he  returned  from  his  disturbed  stroll  about 
the  streets,  after  receiving  the  decisive  note  from  Mc- 
Gregor, James  and  Hay,  that  Hurstwood  found  the  letter 
Carrie  had  written  him  that  morning.  He  thrilled  in- 
tensely as  he  noted  the  handwriting,  and  rapidly  tore  it 
open. 

"  Then,"  he  thought,  "  she  loves  me  or  she  would  not 
have  written  to  me  at  all." 

He  was  slightly  depressed  at  the  tenor  of  the  note  for 
the  first  few  minutes,  but  soon  recovered.  "  She  wouldn't 
write  at  all  if  she  didn't  care  for  me." 

This  was  his  one  resource  against  the  depression  which 
held  him.  He  could  extract  little  from  the  wording  of  the 
letter,  but  the  spirit  he  thought  he  knew. 

There  was  really  something  exceedingly  human — if  not 
pathetic — in  his  being  thus  relieved  by  a  clearly  worded 
reproof.  He  who  had  for  so  long  remained  satisfied  with 
himself  now  looked  outside  of  himself  for  comfort — and 
to  such  a  source.  The  mystic  cords  of  affection !  How 
they  bind  us  all. 

The  colour  came  to  his  cheeks.  For  the  moment  he 
forgot  the  letter  from  McGregor,  James  and  Hay.  If  he 
could  only  have  Carrie,  perhaps  he  could  get  out  of  the 
whole  entanglement — perhaps  it  would  not  matter.  He 
wouldn't  care  what  his  wife  did  with  herself  if  only  he 
might  not  lose  Carrie.    He  stood  up  and  walked  about, 


280  SISTER  CARRIE 

dreaming  his  delightful  dream  of  a  life  continued  with  this 
lovely  possessor  of  his  heart. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  the  old  worry  was 
back  for  consideration,  and  with  it  what  weariness!  He 
thought  of  the  morrow  and  the  suit.  He  had  done  noth- 
ing, and  here  was  the  afternoon  slipping  away.  It  was 
now  a  quarter  of  four.  At  five  the  attorneys  would  have 
gone  home.  He  still  had  the  morrow  until  noon.  Even 
as  he  thought,  the  last  fifteen  minutes  passed  away  and  it 
was  five.  Then  he  abandoned  the  thought  of  seeing  them 
any  more  that  day  and  turned  to  Carrie. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  man  did  not  justify  himself 
to  himself.  He  was  not  troubling  about  that.  His  whole 
thought  was  the  possibility  of  persuading  Carrie.  Noth- 
ing was  wrong  in  that.  He  loved  her  dearly.  Their  mu- 
tual happiness  depended  upon  it.  Would  that  Drouet 
were  only  away ! 

While  he  was  thinking  thus  elatedly,  he  remembered 
that  he  wanted  some  clean  linen  in  the  morning. 

This  he  purchased,  together  with  a  half-dozen  ties,  and 
went  to  the  Palmer  House.  As  he  entered  he  thought  he 
saw  Drouet  ascending  the  stairs  with  a  key.  Surely  not 
Drouet!  Then  he  thought,  perhaps  they  had  changed 
their  abode  temporarily.  He  went  straight  up  to  the 
desk. 

"  Is  Mr.  Drouet  stopping  here?  "  he  asked  of  the  clerk. 

"  I  think  he  is,"  said  the  latter,  consulting  his  private 
registry  list.     "  Yes." 

"Is  that  so?"  exclaimed  Hurstwood,  otherwise  con- 
cealing his  astonishment.     "  Alone?  "  he  added. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  clerk. 

Hurstwood  turned  away  and  set  his  lips  so  as  best  to 
express  and  conceal  his  feelings. 

"How's  that?"  he  thought.     "They've  had  a  row." 

He  hastened  to  his  room  with  rising  spirits  and  changed 


SISTER  CARRIE  28 1 

his  linen.  As  he  did  so,  he  made  up  his  mind  that  if  Car- 
rie was  alone,  or  if  she  had  gone  to  another  place,  it  be- 
hooved him  to  find  out.     He  decided  to  call  at  once. 

"  I  know  what  I'll  do,"  he  thought.  "  I'll  go  to  the 
door  and  ask  if  Mr.  DroUet  is  at  home.  That  will  bring 
out  whether  he  is  there  or  not  and  where  Carrie  is." 

He  was  almost  moved  to  some  muscular  display  as  he 
thought  of  it.    He  decided  to  go  immediately  after  supper. 

On  coming  down  from  his  room  at  six,  he  looked  care- 
fully about  to  see  if  Drouet  was  present  and  then  went 
out  to  lunch.  He  could  scarcely  eat,  however,  he  was  so 
anxious  to  be  about  his  errand.  Before  starting  he 
thought  it  well  to  discover  where  Drouet  would  be,  and 
returned  to  his  hotel. 

"  Has  Mr.  Drouet  gone  out?  "  he  asked  of  the  clerk. 

"  No,"  answered  the  latter,  "  he's  in  his  room.  Do  you 
wish  to  send  up  a  card?  " 

"  No,  I'll  call  around  later,"  answered  Hurstwood,  and 
strolled  out. 

He  took  a  Madison  car  and  went  direct  to  Ogden  Place, 
this  time  walking  boldly  up  to  the  door.  The  chamber- 
maid answered  his  knock. 

"  Is  Mr.  Drouet  in?  "  said  Hurstwood  blandly. 

"  He  is  out  of  the  city,"  said  the  girl,  who  had  heard 
Carrie  tell  this  to  Mrs.  Hale. 

"Is  Mrs.  Drouet  in?" 

"  No,  she  has  gone  to  the  theatre." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  said  Hurstwood,  considerably  taken 
back;  then,  as  if  burdened  with  something  important, 
"  You  don't  know  to  which  theatre  ?  " 

The  girl  really  had  no  idea  where  she  had  gone,  but  not 
liking  Hurstwood,  and  wishing  to  cause  him  trouble,  an- 
swered: "Yes,  Hooley's." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  the  manager,  and,  tipping  his 
hat  slightly,  went  away. 


282  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I'll  look  in  at  Hooley's,"  thought  he,  but  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  he  did  not.  Before  he  had  reached  the  cen- 
tral portion  of  the  city  he  thought  the  whole  matter  over 
and  decided  it  would  be  useless.  As  much  as  he  longed 
to  see  Carrie,  he  knew  she  would  be  with  some  one  and 
did  not  wish  to  intrude  with  his  plea  there.  A  little 
later  he  might  do  so — in  the  morning.  Only  in  the 
morning  he  had  the  lawyer  question  before  him. 

This  little  pilgrimage  threw  quite  a  wet  blanket  upon 
his  rising  spirits.  He  was  soon  down  again  to  his  old 
worry,  and  reached  the  resort  anxious  to  find  relief.  Quite 
a  company  of  gentlemen  were  making  the  place  lively 
with  their  conversation.  A  group  of  Cook  County  poli- 
ticians were  conferring  about  a  round  cherry-wood  table 
in  the  rear  portion  of  the  room.  Several  young  merry- 
makers were  chattering  at  the  bar  before  making  a  be- 
lated visit  to  the  theatre.  A  shabbily-genteel  individual, 
with  a  red  nose  and  an  old  high  hat,  was  sipping  a  quiet 
glass  of  ale  alone  at  one  end  of  the  bar.  Hurstwood 
nodded  to  the  politicians  and  went  into  his  office. 

About  ten  o'clock  a  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Frank  L.  Taintor, 
a  local  sport  and  racing  man,  dropped  in,  and  seeing 
Hurstwood  alone  in  his  office  came  to  the  door. 

"Hello,  George!"  he  exclaimed. 

"How  are  you,  Frank?"  said  Hurstwood,  somewhat 
relieved  by  the  sight  of  him.  "  Sit  down,"  and  he  mo- 
tioned him  to  one  of  the  chairs  in  the  little  room. 

"  What's  the  matter,  George?  "  asked  Taintor.  "  You 
look  a  little  glum.     Haven't  lost  at  the  track,  have  you?  " 

"  I'm  not  feeling  very  well  to-night.  I  had  a  slight  cold 
the  other  day." 

"  Take  whiskey,  George,"  said  Taintor.  "  You  ought 
to  know  that." 

Hurstwood  smiled. 

While  they  were  still  conferring  there,  several  other  cf 


SISTER  CARRIE  283 

Hurstwood's  friends  entered,  and  not  long  after  eleven, 
the  theatres  being  out,  some  actors  began  to  drop  in — 
among  them  some  notabilities. 

Then  began  one  of  those  pointless  social  conversations 
so  common  in  American  resorts  where  the  would-be  gilded 
attempt  to  rub  off  gilt  from  those  who  have  it  in  abun- 
dance. If  Hurstwood  had  one  leaning,  it  was  toward 
notabilities.  He  considered  that,  if  anywhere,  he  be- 
longed among  them.  He  was  too  proud  to  toady,  too 
keen  not  to  strictly  observe  the  plane  he  occupied  when 
there  were  those  present  who  did  not  appreciate  him,  but, 
in  situations  like  the  present,  where  he  could  shine  as  a 
gentleman  and  be  received  without  equivocation  as  a 
friend  and  equal  among  men  of  known  ability,  he  was 
most  delighted.  It  was  on  such  occasions,  if  ever,  that 
he  would  "  take  something."  When  the  social  flavour 
was  strong  enough  he  would  even  unbend  to  the  extent 
of  drinking  glass  for  glass  with  his  associates,  punctili- 
ously observing  his  turn  to  pay  as  if  he  were  an  outsider 
like  the  others.  If  he  ever  approached  intoxication — or 
rather  that  ruddy  warmth  and  comfortableness  which 
precedes  the  more  sloven  state — it  was  when  individuals 
such  as  these  were  gathered  about  him,  when  he  was  one 
of  a  circle  of  chatting  celebrities.  To-night,  disturbed  as 
was  his  state,  he  was  rather  relieved  to  find  company,  and 
now  that  notabilities  were  gathered,  he  laid  aside  his 
troubles  for  the  nonce,  and  joined  in  right  heartily. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  imbibing  began  to  tell. 
Stories  began  to  crop  up — those  ever-enduring,  droll  sto- 
ries which  form  the  major  portion  of  the  conversation 
among  American  men  under  such  circumstances. 

Twelve  o'clock  arrived,  the  hour  for  closing,  and  with 
it  the  company  took  leave.  Hurstwood  shook  hands  with 
them  most  cordially.  He  was  very  roseate  physically. 
He  had  arrived  at  that  state  where  his  mind,  though  clear, 


284  SISTER  CARRIE 

was,  nevertheless,  warm  in  its  fancies.  He  felt  as  if  his 
troubles  were  not  very  serious.  Going  into  his  office,  he 
began  to  turn  over  certain  accounts,  awaiting  the  depar- 
ture of  the  bartenders  and  the  cashier,  who  soon  left. 

It  was  the  manager's  duty,  as  well  as  his  custom,  after 
all  were  gone  to  see  that  everything  was  safely  closed  up 
for  the  night.  As  a  rule,  no  money  except  the  cash  taken 
in  after  banking  hours  was  kept  about  the  place,  and  that 
was  locked  in  the  safe  by  the  cashier,  who,  with  the  own- 
ers, was  joint  keeper  of  the  secret  combination,  but,  never- 
theless, Hurstwood  nightly  took  the  precaution  to  try  the 
cash  drawers  and  the  safe  in  order  to  see  that  they  were 
tightly  closed.  Then  he  would  lock  his  own  little  office 
and  set  the  proper  light  burning  near  the  safe,  after  which 
he  would  take  his  departure. 

Never  in  his  experience  had  he  found  anything  out  of 
order,  but  to-night,  after  shutting  down  his  desk,  he  came 
out. and  tried  the  safe.  His  way  was  to  give  a  sharp  pull. 
This  time  the  door  responded.  He  was  slightly  surprised 
at  that,  and  looking  in  found  the  money  cases  as  left  for 
the  day,  apparently  unprotected.  His  first  thought  was, 
of  course,  to  inspect  the  drawers  and  shut  the  door. 

"  I'll  speak  to  Mayhew  about  this  to-morrow,"  he 
thought. 

The  latter  had  certainly  imagined  upon  going  out  a  half- 
hour  before  that  he  had  turned  the  knob  on  the  door  so 
as  to  spring  the  lock.  He  had  never  failed  to  do  so  be- 
fore. But  to-night  Mayhew  had  other  thoughts.  He 
had  been  revolving  the  problem  of  a  business  of  his  own. 

"  I'll  look  in  here,"  thought  the  manager,  pulling  out 
the  money  drawers.  He  did  not  know  why  he  wished 
to  look  in  there.  It  was  quite  a  superfluous  action,  which 
another  time  might  not  have  happened  at  all. 

As  'he  did  so,  a  layer  of  bills,  in  parcels  of  a  thousand, 
such  as  banks  issue,  caught  his  eye.     He  could  not  tell 


SISTER  CARRIE  285 

how  much  they  represented,  but  paused  to  view  them. 
Then  he  pulled  out  the  second  of  the  cash  drawers.  In 
that  were  the  receipts  of  the  day. 

"  I  didn't  know  Fitzgerald  and  Moy  ever  left  any  money 
this  way,"  his  mind  said  to  itself.  "  They  must  have 
forgotten  it." 

He  looked  at  the  other  drawer  and  paused  again. 

"  Count  them,"  said  a  voice  in  his  ear. 

He  put  his  hand  into  the  first  of  the  boxes  and  lifted  the 
stack,  letting  the  separate  parcels  fall.  They  were  bills 
of  fifty  and  one  hundred  dollars  done  in  packages  of  a 
thousand.     He  thought  he  counted  ten  such. 

"Why  don't  I  shut  the  safe?"  his  mind  said  to  itself, 
lingering.     "  What  makes  me  pause  here?  " 

For  answer  there  came  the  strangest  words : 

"  Did  you  ever  have  ten  thousand  dollars  in  ready 
money?  " 

Lo,  the  manager  remembered  that  he  had  never  had  so 
much.  All  his  property  had  been  slowly  accumulated, 
and  now  his  wife  owned  that.  He  was  worth  more  than 
forty  thousand,  all  told — but  she  would  get  that. 

He  puzzled  as  he  thought  of  these  things,  then  pushed 
in  the  drawers  and  closed  the  door,  pausing  with  his  hand 
upon  the  knob,  which  might  so  easily  lock  it  all  beyond 
temptation.  Still  he  paused.  Finally  he  went  to  the 
windows  and  pulled  down  the  curtains.  Then  he  tried 
the  door,  which  he  had  previously  locked.  What  was  this 
thing,  making  him  suspicious?  Why  did  he  wish  to  move 
about  so  quietly.  He  came  back  to  the  end  of  the  counter 
as  if  to  rest  his  arm  and  think.  Then  he  went  and  un- 
locked his  little  office  door  and  turned  on  the  light.  He 
also  opened  his  desk,  sitting  down  before  it,  only  to  think 
strange  thoughts. 

"  The  safe  is  open,"  said  a  voice.  "  There  is  just  the 
least  little  crack  in  it.    The  lock  has  not  been  sprung." 


286  SISTER  CARRIE 

The  manager  floundered  among  a  jumble  of  thoughts. 
Now  all  the  entanglement  of  the  day  came  back.  Also 
the  thought  that  here  was  a  solution.  That  money  would 
do  it.  If  he  had  that  and  Carrie.  He  rose  up  and  stood 
stock-still,  looking  at  the  floor. 

"What  about  it?"  his  mind  asked,  and  for  answer  he 
put  his  hand  slowly  up  and  scratched  his  head. 

The  manager  was  no  fool  to  be  led  blindly  away  by  such 
an  errant  proposition  as  this,  but  his  situation  was  pecu- 
liar. Wine  was  in  his  veins.  It  had  crept  up  into  his 
head  and  given  him  a  warm  view  of  the  situation.  It  also 
coloured  the  possibilities  of  ten  thousand  for  him.  He 
could  see  great  opportunities  with  that.  He  could  get 
Carrie.  Oh,  yes,  he  could !  He  could  get  rid  of  his  wife. 
That  letter,  too,  was  waiting  discussion  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. He  would  not  need  to  answer  that.  He  went  back 
to  the  safe  and  put  his  hand  on  the  knob.  Then  he  pulled 
the  door  open  and  took  the  drawer  with  the  money  quite 
out. 

With  it  once  out  and  before  him,  it  seemed  a  foolish 
thing  to  think  about  leaving  it.  Certainly  it  would.  Why, 
he  could  live  quietly  with  Carrie  for  years. 

Lord!  what  was  that?  For  the  first  time  he  was  tense, 
as  if  a  stern  hand  had  been  laid  upon  his  shoulder.  He 
looked  fearfully  around.  Not  a  soul  was  present.  Not 
a  sound.  Some  one  was  shuffling  by  on  the  sidewalk. 
He  took  the  box  and  the  money  and  put  it  back  in  the 
safe.     Then  he  partly  closed  the  door  again. 

To  those  who  have  never  wavered  in  conscience,  the 
predicament  of  the  individual  whose  mind  is  less  strongly 
constituted  and  who  trembles  in  the  balance  between  duty 
and  desire  is  scarcely  appreciable,  unless  graphically  por- 
trayed. Those  who  have  never  heard  that  solemn  voice 
of  the  ghostly  clock  which  ticks  with  awful  distinctness, 
"  thou  shalt,"  "  thou  shalt  not,"  "  thou  shalt,"  "  thou  shalt 


SISTER  CARRIE  287 

not,"  are  in  no  position  to  judge.  Not  alone  in  sensi- 
tive, highly  organised  natures  is  such  a  mental  conflict 
possible.  The  dullest  specimen  of  humanity,  when  drawn 
by  desire  toward  evil,  is  recalled  by  a  sense  of  right,  which 
is  proportionate  in  power  and  strength  to  his  evil  ten- 
dency. We  must  remember  that  it  may  not  be  a  knowl- 
edge of  right,  for  no  knowledge  of  right  is  predicated  of 
the  animal's  instinctive  recoil  at  evil.  Men  are  still  led 
by  instinct  before  they  are  regulated  by  knowledge.  It 
is  instinct  which  recalls  the  criminal — it  is  instinct  (where 
highly  organised  reasoning  is  absent)  which  gives  the 
criminal  his  feeling  of  danger,  his  fear  of  wrong. 

At  every  first  adventure,  then,  into  some  untried  evil, 
the  mind  wavers.  The  clock  of  thought  ticks  out  its  wish 
and  its  denial.  To  those  who  have  never  experienced 
such  a  mental  dilemma,  the  following  will  appeal  on  the 
simple  ground  of  revelation. 

When  Hurstwood  put  the  money  back,  his  nature  again 
resumed  its  ease  and  daring.  No  one  had  observed  him. 
He  was  quite  alone.  No  one  could  tell  what  he  wished 
to  do.     He  could  work  this  thing  out  for  himself. 

The  imbibation  of  the  evening  had  not  yet  worn  off. 
Moist  as  was  his  brow,  tremble  as  did  his  hand  once  after 
the  nameless  fright,  he  was  still  flushed  with  the  fumes  of 
liquor.  He  scarcely  noticed  that  the  time  was  passing. 
He  went  over  his  situation  once  again,  his  eye  always  see- 
ing the  money  in  a  lump,  his  mind  always  seeing  what  it 
would  do.  He  strolled  into  his  little  room,  then  to 
the  door,  then  to  the  safe  again.  He  put  his  hand  on  the 
knob  and  opened  it.  There  was  the  money!  Surely  no 
harm  could  come  from  looking  at  it! 

He  took  out  the  drawer  again  and  lifted  the  bills.  They 
were  so  smooth,  so  compact,  so  portable.  How  little  they 
made,  after  all.  He  decided  he  would  take  them.  Yes, 
he  would.    He  would  put  them  in  his  pocket.    Then  he 


288  SISTER  CARRIE 

looked  at  that  and  saw  they  would  not  go  there.  His  .hand 
satchel!  To  be  sure,  his  hand  satchel.  They  would  go 
in  that— all  of  it  would.  No  one  would  think  anything  of 
it  either.  He  went  into  the  little  office  and  took  it  from 
the  shelf  in  the  corner.  Now  he  set  it  upon  his  desk  and 
went  out  toward  the  safe.  For  some  reason  he  did  not 
want  to  fill  it  out  in  the  big  room. 

First  he  brought  the  bills  and  then  the  loose  receipts  of 
the  day.  He  would  take  it  all.  He  put  the  empty  draw- 
ers back  and  pushed  the  iron  door  almost  to,  then  stood 
beside  it  meditating. 

The  wavering  of  a  mind  under  such  circumstances  is  an 
almost  inexplicable  thing,  and  yet  it  is  absolutely  true. 
Hurstwood  could  not  bring  himself  to  act  definitely.  He 
wanted  to  think  about  it— to  ponder  over  it,  to  decide 
whether  it  were  best.  He  was  drawn  by  such  a  keen  de- 
sire for  Carrie,  driven  by  such  a  state  of  turmoil  in  his  own 
affairs  that  he  thought  constantly  it  would  be  best, 
and  yet  he  wavered.  He  did  not  know  what  evil  might 
result  from  it  to  him — how  soon  he  might  come  to  grief. 
The  true  ethics  of  the  situation  never  once  occurred  to 
him,  and  never  would  have,  under  any  circumstances. 

After  he  had  all  the  money  in  the  hand  bag,  a  revulsion 
of  feeling  seized  him.  He  would  not  do  it— no!  Think 
of  what  a  scandal  it  would  make.  The  police!  They 
would  be  after  him.  He  would  have  to  fly,  and  where? 
Oh,  the  terror  of  being  a  fugitive  from  justice !  He  took 
out  the  two  boxes  and  put  all  the  money  back.  In  his  ex- 
citement he  forgot  what  he  was  doing,  and  put  the  sums 
in  the  wrong  boxes.  As  he  pushed  the  door  to,  he 
thought  he  remembered  doing  it  wrong  and  opened  the 
door  again.     There  were  the  two  boxes  mixed. 

He  took  them  out  and  straightened  the  matter,  but  now 
the  terror  had  gone.     Why  be  afraid? 

While  the  money  was  in  his  hand  the  lock  clicked.     It 


SISTER  CARRIE  289 

had  sprung !  Did  he  do  it  ?  He  grabbed  at  the  knob  and 
pulled  vigorously.  It  had  closed.  Heavens!  he  was  in 
for  it  now,  sure  enough. 

The  moment  he  realised  that  the  safe  was  locked  for  a 
surety,  the  sweat  burst  out  upon  his  brow  and  he  trembled 
violently.  He  looked  about  him  and  decided  instantly. 
There  was  no  delaying  now. 

"  Supposing  I  do  lay  it  on  the  top,"  he  said,  "  and  go 
away,  they'll  know  who  took  it.  I'm  the  last  to  close  up. 
Besides,  other  things  will  happen." 

At  once  he  became  the  man  of  action. 

"  I  must  get  out  of  this,"  he  thought. 

He  hurried  into  his  little  room,  took  down  his  light 
overcoat  and  hat,  locked  his  desk,  and  grabbed  the  satchel. 
Then  he  turned  out  all  but  one  light  and  opened  the  door. 
He  tried  to  put  on  his  old  assured  air,  but  it  was  almost 
gone.     He  was  repenting  rapidly. 

"  I  wish  I  hadn't  done  that,"  he  said.  "  That  was  a 
mistake." 

He  walked  steadily  down  the  street,  greeting  a  night 
watchman  whom  he  knew  who  was  trying  doors.  He 
must  get  out  of  the  city,  and  that  quickly. 

"  I  wonder  how  the  trains  run?  "  he  thought. 

Instantly  he  pulled  out  his  watch  and  looked.  It  was 
nearly  half-past  one. 

At  the  first  drug  store  he  stopped,  seeing  a  long-dis- 
tance telephone  booth  inside.  It  was  a  famous  drug  store, 
and  contained  one  of  the  first  private  telephone  booths 
ever  erected. 

"  I  want  to  use  your  'phone  a  minute,"  he  said  to  the 
night  clerk. 

The  latter  nodded.  >. 

"  Give  me  1643,"  ne  called  to  Central,  after  looking  up 
the  Michigan  Central  depot  number.  Soon  he  got  the 
ticket  agent. 

19 


290 


SISTER  CARRIE 


"  How  do  the  trains  leave  here  for  Detroit?  "  he  asked. 

The  man  explained  the  hours. 

"  No  more  to-night?  " 

"  Nothing  with  a  sleeper.  Yes,  there  is,  too,"  he  added. 
"  There  is  a  mail  train  out  of  here  at  three  o'clock." 

"  All  right,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  What  time  does  that 
get  to  Detroit?  " 

He  was  thinking  if  he  could  only  get  there  and  cross 
the  river  into  Canada,  he  could  take  his  time  about  getting 
to  Montreal.  He  was  relieved  to  learn  that  it  would  reach 
there  by  noon. 

"  Mayhew  won't  open  the  safe  till  nine,"  he  thought. 
"  They  can't  get  on  my  track  before  noon." 

Then  he  thought  of  Carrie.  With  what  speed  must  he 
get  her,  if  'he  got  her  at  all.  She  would  have  to  come 
along.     He  jumped  into  the  nearest  cab  standing  by. 

"  To  Ogden  Place,"  he  said  sharply.  "  I'll  give  you  a 
dollar  more  if  you  make  good  time." 

The  cabby  beat  his  horse  into  a  sort  of  imitation  gallop, 
which  was  fairly  fast,  however.  On  the  way  Hurstwood 
thought  what  to  do.  Reaching  the  number,  he  hurried 
up  the  steps  and  did  not  spare  the  bell  in  waking  the 
servant. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Drouet  in?  "  be  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  astonished  girl. 

"  Tell  her  to  dress  and  come  to  the  door  at  once.  Her 
husband  is  in  the  hospital,  injured,  and  wants  to  see  her." 

The  servant  girl  hurried  upstairs,  convinced  by  the 
man's  strained  and  emphatic  manner. 

"What!"  said  Carrie,  lighting  the  gas  and  searching 
for  her  clothes. 

"  Mr.  Drouet  is  hurt  and  in  the  hospital.  He  wants  to 
see  you.     The  cab's  downstairs." 

Carrie  dressed  very  rapidly,  and  soon  appeared  below, 
forgetting  everything  save  the  necessities. 


SISTER  CARRIE  29 1 

"  Drouet  is  hurt,"  said  Hurstwood  quickly.  "  He 
wants  to  see  you.     Come  quickly." 

Carrie  was  so  bewildered  that  she  swallowed  the  whole 
story. 

"  Get  in,"  said  Hurstwood,  helping  her  and  jumping 
after. 

The  cabby  began  to  turn  the  horse  around. 

"  Michigan  Central  depot,"  he  said,  standing  up  and 
speaking  so  low  that  Carrie  could  not  hear,  "  as  fast  as 
you  can  go." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A   PILGRIM,   AN   OUTLAW:    THE  SPIRIT  DETAINED 

The  cab  had  not  travelled  a  short  block  before  Carrie, 
settling  herself  and  thoroughly  waking  in  the  night  at- 
mosphere, asked : 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him?     Is  he  hurt  badly?  " 

"  It  isn't  anything  very  serious,"  Hurstwood  said 
solemnly.  He  was  very  much  disturbed  over  his  own 
situation,  and  now  that  he  had  Carrie  with  him,  he  only 
wanted  to  get  safely  out  of  reach  of  the  law.  There- 
fore he  was  in  no  mood  for  anything  save  such  words 
as  would  further  his  plans  distinctly. 

Carrie  did  not  forget  that  there  was  something  to  be 
settled  between  her  and  Hurstwood,  but  the  thought  was 
ignored  in  her  agitation.  The  one  thing  was  to  finish 
this  strange  pilgrimage. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  Way  out  on  the  South  Side,"  said  Hurstwood. 
"  We'll  have  to  take  the  train.     It's  the  quickest  way." 

Carrie  said  nothing,  and  the  horse  gambolled  on.  The 
weirdness  of  the  city  by  night  held  her  attention.  She 
looked  at  the  long  receding  rows  of  lamps  and  studied  the 
dark,  silent  houses. 

"  How  did  he  hurt  himself?  "  she  asked — meaning  what 
was  the  nature  of  his  injuries.  Hurstwood  understood. 
He  hated  to  lie  any  more  than  necessary,  and  yet  he 
wanted  no  protests  until  he  was  out  of  danger. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  he  said.     "  They  just  called  me 


SISTER  CARRIE  293 

up  to  go  and  get  you  and  bring  you  out.  They  said  there 
wasn't  any  need  for  alarm,  but  that  I  shouldn't  fail  to 
bring  you." 

The  man's  serious  manner  convinced  Carrie,  and  she 
became  silent,  wondering. 

Hurstwood  examined  his  watch  and  urged  the  man  to 
hurry.  For  one  in  so  delicate  a  position  he  was  exceed- 
ingly cool.  He  could  only  think  of  how  needful  it  was 
to  make  the  train  and  get  quietly  away.  Carrie  seemed 
quite  tractable,  and  he  congratulated  himself. 

In  due  time  they  reached  the  depot,  and  after  helping 
her  out  he  handed  the  man  a  five-dollar  bill  and  hurried 
on. 

"  You  wait  here,"  he  said  to  Carrie,  when  they  reached 
the  waiting-room,  "  while  I  get  the  tickets." 

"  Have  I  much  time  to  catch  that  train  for  Detroit?  " 
he  asked  of  the  agent. 

"  Four  minutes,"  said  the  latter. 

He  paid  for  two  tickets  as  circumspectly  as  possible. 

"  Is  it  far?  "  said  Carrie,  as  he  hurried  back. 

"  Not  very,"  he  said.     "  We  must  get  right  in." 

He  pushed  her  before  him  at  the  gate,  stood  between 
her  and  the  ticket  man  while  the  latter  punched  their 
tickets,  so  that  she  could  not  see,  and  then  hurried  after. 

There  was  a  long  line  of  express  and  passenger  cars 
and  one  or  two  common  day  coaches.  As  the  train  had 
only  recently  been  made  up  and  few  passengers  were 
expected,  there  were  only  one  or  two  brakemen  waiting. 
They  entered  the  rear  day  coach  and  sat  down.  Almost 
immediately,  "  All  aboard,"  resounded  faintly  from  the 
outside,  and  the  train  started. 

Carrie  began  to  think  it  was  a  little  bit  curious — this  go- 
ing to  a  depot — but  said  nothing.  The  whole  incident  was 
so  out  of  the  natural  that  she  did  not  attach  too  much 
weight  to  anything  she  imagined. 


294  SISTER  CARRIE 

"How  have  you  been  ?"  asked  Hurstwood  gently,  for 
he  now  breathed  easier. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Carrie,  who  was  so  disturbed  that 
she  could  not  bring  a  proper  attitude  to  bear  in  the  mat- 
ter. She  was  still  nervous  to  reach  Drouet  and  see  what 
could  be  the  matter.  Hurstwood  contemplated  her  and 
felt  this.  He  was  not  disturbed  that  it  should  be  so.  He 
did  not  trouble  because  she  was  moved  sympathetically 
in  the  matter.  It  was  one  of  the  qualities  in  her  which 
pleased  him  exceedingly.  He  was  only  thinking  how  he 
should  explain.  Even  this  was  not  the  most  serious  thing 
in  his  mind,  however.  His  own  deed  and  present  flight 
were  the  great  shadows  which  weighed  upon  him. 

"  What  a  fool  I  was  to  do  that,"  he  said  over  and  over. 
"What  a  mistake!  " 

In  his  sober  senses,  he  could  scarcely  realise  that  the 
thing  had  been  done.  He  could  not  begin  to  feel  that  he 
was  a  fugitive  from  justice.  He  had  often  read  of  such 
things,  and  had  thought  they  must  be  terrible,  but  now 
that  the  thing  was  upon  him,  he  only  sat  and  looked  into 
the  past.  The  future  was  a  thing  which  concerned  the 
Canadian  line.  He  wanted  to  reach  that.  As  for  the 
rest,  he  surveyed  his  actions  for  the  evening,  and  counted 
them  parts  of  a  great  mistake. 

"  Still,"  he  said,  "  what  could  I  have  done?  " 

Then  he  would  decide  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  would 
begin  to  do  so  by  starting  the  whole  inquiry  over  again. 
It  was  a  fruitless,  harassing  round,  and  left  him  in  a  queer 
mood  to  deal  with  the  proposition  he  had  in  the  presence 
of  Carrie. 

The  train  clacked  through  the  yards  along  the  lake 
front,  and  ran  rather  slowly  to  Twenty-fourth  Street. 
Brakes  and  signals  were  visible  without.  The  engine  gave 
short  calls  with  its  whistle,  and  frequently  the  bell  rang. 
Several  brakemen  came  through,  bearing  lanterns.     They 


SISTER  CARRIE  295 

were  locking  the  vestibules  and  putting  the  cars  in  order 
for  a  long  run. 

Presently  it  began  to  gain  speed,  and  Carrie  saw  the 
silent  streets  flashing  by  in  rapid  succession.  The  engine 
also  began  its  whistle-calls  of  four  parts,  with  which  it 
signalled  danger  to  important  crossings. 

"  Is  it  very  far?  "  asked  Carrie. 

"  Not  so  very,"  said  Hurstwood.  He  could  hardly  re- 
press a  smile  at  her  simplicity.  He  wanted  to  explain  and 
conciliate  her,  but  he  also  wanted  to  be  well  out  of 
Chicago. 

In  the  lapse  of  another  half-hour  it  became  apparent  to 
Carrie  that  it  was  quite  a  run  to  wherever  he  was  taking 
her,  anyhow. 

"  Is  it  in  Chicago?"  she  asked  nervously.  They  were 
now  far  beyond  the  city  limits,  and  the  train  was  scudding 
across  the  Indiana  line  at  a  great  rate. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  where  we  are  going." 

There  was  something  in  the  way  he  said  this  which 
aroused  her  in  an  instant. 

Her  pretty  brow  began  to  contract. 

"We  are  going  to  see  Charlie,  aren't  we?"  she 
asked. 

He  felt  that  the  time  was  up.  An  explanation  might  as 
well  come  now  as  later.  Therefore,  he  shook  his  head 
in  the  most  gentle  negative. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Carrie.  She  was  nonplussed  at  the 
possibility  of  the  errand  being  different  from  what  she  had 
thought. 

He  only  looked  at  her  in  the  most  kindly  and  mollifying 
way. 

"  Well,  where  are  you  taking  me,  then?  "  she  asked,  her 
voice  showing  the  quality  of  fright. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Carrie,  if  you'll  be  quiet.  I  want  you  to 
come  along  with  me  to  another  city." 


296  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Oh,"  said  Carrie,  her  voice  rising  into  a  weak  cry. 
"  Let  me  off.     I  don't  want  to  go  with  you." 

She  was  quite  appalled  at  the  man's  audacity.  This 
was  something  which  had  never  for  a  moment  entered  her 
head.  Her  one  thought  now  was  to  get  off  and  away. 
If  only  the  flying  train  could  be  stopped,  the  terrible  trick 
would  be  amended. 

She  arose  and  tried  to  push  out  into  the  aisle — any- 
where. She  knew  she  had  to  do  something.  Hurstwood 
laid  a  gentle  hand  on  her. 

"  Sit  still,  Carrie,"  he  said.  "  Sit  still.  It  won't  do  you 
any  good  to  get  up  here.  Listen  to  me  and  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.     Wait  a  moment." 

She  was  pushing  at  his  knees,  but  he  only  pulled  her 
back.  No  one  saw  this  little  altercation,  for  very  few 
persons  were  in  the  car,  and  they  were  attempting  to  doze. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Carrie,  who  was,  nevertheless,  comply- 
ing against  her  will.  "  Let  me  go,"  she  said.  "  How 
dare  you?  "  and  large  tears  began  to  gather  in  her  eyes. 

Hurstwood  was  now  fully  aroused  to  the  immediate 
difficulty,  and  ceased  to  think  of  his  own  situation.  He 
must  do  something  with  this  girl,  or  she  would  cause  him 
trouble.  He  tried  the  art  of  persuasion  with  all  his 
powers  aroused. 

"  Look  here  now*  Carrie,"  he  said,  "  you  mustn't  act 
this  way.  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings.  I  don't 
want  to  do  anything  to  make  you  feel  bad." 

"Oh,"  sobbed  Carrie,  "oh,  oh— 00— o!  " 

"  There,  there,"  he  said,  "  you  mustn't  cry.  Won't  you 
listen  to  me?  Listen  to  me  a  minute,  and  I'll  tell  you 
why  I  came  to  do  this  thing.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  assure 
you  I  couldn't.     Won't  you  listen?  " 

Her  sobs  disturbed  him  so  that  he  was  quite  sure  she 
did  not  hear  a  word  he  said. 

"  Won't  you  listen?  "  he  asked. 


SISTER  CARRIE  297 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Carrie,  flashing  up.  "  I  want  you 
to  take  me  out  of  this,  or  I'll  tell  the  conductor.  I  won't 
go  with  you.  It's  a  shame,"  and  again  sobs  of  fright  cut 
off  her  desire  for  expression. 

Hurstwood  listened  with  some  astonishment.  He  felt 
that  she  had  just  cause  for  feeling  as  she  did,  and  yet  he 
wished  that  he  could  straighten  this  thing  out  quickly. 
Shortly  the  conductor  would  come  through  for  the  tickets. 
He  wanted  no  noise,  no  trouble  of  any  kind.  Before 
everything  he  must  make  her  quiet. 

"  You  couldn't  get  out  until  the  train  stops  again,"  said 
Hurstwood.  "  It  won't  be  very  long  until  we  reach  an- 
other station.  You  can  get  out  then  if  you  want  to.  I 
won't  stop  you.  All  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  listen  a  mo- 
ment.    You'll  let  me  tell  you,  won't  you?  " 

Carrie  seemed  not  to  listen.  She  only  turned  her  head 
toward  the  window,  where  outside  all  was  black.  The 
train  was  speeding  with  steady  grace  across  the  fields  and 
through  patches  of  wood.  The  long  whistles  came  with 
sad,  musical  effect  as  the  lonely  woodland  crossings  were 
approached. 

Now  the  conductor  entered  the  car  and  took  up  the  one 
or  two  fares  that  had  been  added  at  Chicago.  He  ap- 
proached Hurstwood,  who  handed  out  the  tickets.  Poised 
as  she  was  to  act,  Carrie  made  no  move.  She  did  not 
look  about. 

When  the  conductor  had  gone  again  Hurstwood  felt 
relieved. 

"  You're  angry  at  me  because  I  deceived  you,"  he 
said.  "  I  didn't  mean  to,  Carrie.  As  I  live  I  didn't.  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  couldn't  stay  away  from  you  after 
the  first  time  I  saw  you." 

He  was  ignoring  the  last  deception  as  something  that 
might  go  by  the  board.  He  wanted  to  convince  her  that 
his  wife  could  no  longer  be  a  factor  in  their  relationship. 


298  SISTER  CARRIE 

The  money  he  had  stolen  he  tried  to  shut  out  of  his 
mind. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,"  said  Carrie,  "  I  hate  you.  I  want 
you  to  go  away  from  me.  I  am  going  to  get  out  at  the 
very  next  station." 

She  was  in  a  tremble  of  excitement  and  opposition  as 
she  spoke. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  "  but  you'll  hear  me  out,  won't 
you?  After  all  you  have  said  about  loving  me,  you  might 
hear  me.  I  don't  want  to  do  you  any  harm.  I'll  give 
you  the  money  to  go  back  with  when  you  go.  I  merely 
want  to  tell  you,  Carrie.  You  can't  stop  me  from  loving 
you,  whatever  you  may  think." 

He  looked  at  her  tenderly,  but  received  no  reply. 

"  You  think  I  have  deceived  you  badly,  but  I  haven't. 
I  didn't  do  it  willingly.  I'm  through  with  my  wife.  She 
hasn't  any  claims  on  me.  I'll  never  see  her  any  more. 
That's  why  I'm  here  to-night.  That's  why  I  came  and 
got  you." 

"  You  said  Charlie  was  hurt,"  said  Carrie,  savagely. 
"  You  deceived  me.  You've  been  deceiving  me  all  the 
time,  and  now  you  want  to  force  me  to  run  away  with 
you." 

She  was  so  excited  that  she  got  up  and  tried  to  get  by 
him  again.  He  let  her,  and  she  took  another  seat.  Then 
he  followed. 

"  Don't  run  away  from  me,  Carrie,"  he  said  gently. 
"  Let  me  explain.  If  you  will  only  hear  me  out  you  will 
see  where  I  stand.  I  tell  you  my  wife  is  nothing  to  me. 
She  hasn't  been  anything  for  years  or  I  wouldn't  have 
ever  come  near  you.  I'm  going  to  get  a  divorce  just  as 
soon  as  I  can.  I'll  never  see  her  again.  I'm  done  with 
all  that.  You're  the  only  person  I  want.  If  I  can  have 
you  I  won't  ever  think  of  another  woman  again." 

Carrie  heard  all  this  in  a  very  ruffled  state.     It  sounded 


SISTER  CARRIE  299 

sincere  enough,  however,  despite  all  he  had  done.  There 
was  a  tenseness  in  Hurstwood's  voice  and  manner  which 
could  but  have  some  effect.  She  did  not  want  anything 
to  do  with  him.  He  was  married,  he  had  deceived  her 
once,  and  now  again,  and  she  thought  him  terrible.  Still 
there  is  something  in  such  daring  and  power  which  is 
fascinating  to  a  woman,  especially  if  she  can  be  made  to 
feel  that  it  is  all  prompted  by  love  of  her. 

The  progress  of  the  train  was  having  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  the  solution  of  this  difficult  situation.  The  speeding 
wheels  and  disappearing  country  put  Chicago  farther  and 
farther  behind.  Carrie  could  feel  that  she  was  being 
borne  a  long  distance  off — that  the  engine  was  making 
an  almost  through  run  to  some  distant  city.  She  felt  at 
times  as  if  she  could  cry  out  and  make  such  a  row  that 
some  one  would  come  to  her  aid;  at  other  times  it  seemed 
an  almost  useless  thing — so  far  was  she  from  any  aid,  ho 
matter  what  she  did.  All  the  while  Hurstwood  was  en- 
deavouring to  formulate  his  plea  in  such  a  way  that  it 
would  strike  home  and  bring  her  into  sympathy  with 
him. 

"  I  was  simply  put  where  I  didn't  know  what  else  to  do." 

Carrie  deigned  no  suggestion  of  hearing  this. 

"  When  I  saw  you  wouldn't  come  unless  I  could  marry 
you,  I  decided  to  put  everything  else  behind  me  and  get 
you  to  come  away  with  me.  I'm  going  off  now  to  an- 
other city.  I  want  to  go  to  Montreal  for  a  while,  and 
then  anywhere  you  want  to.  We'll  go  and  live  in  New 
York,  if  you  say." 

"  I'll  not  have  anything  to  do  with  you,"  said  Carrie. 
"  I  want  to  get  off  this  train.     Where  are  we  going?  " 

"  To  Detroit,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Carrie,  in  a  burst  of  anguish.  So  distant 
and  definite  a  point  seemed  to  increase  the  difficulty. 

"  Won't  you  come  along  with  me?  "  he  said,  as  if  there 


3oo  SISTER  CARRIE 

was  great  danger  that  she  would  not.  "  You  won't  need 
to  do  anything  but  travel  with  me.  I'll  not  trouble  you 
in  any  way.  You  can  see  Montreal  and  New  York,  and 
then  if  you  don't  want  to  stay  you  can  go  back.  It  will 
be  better  than  trying  to  go  back  to-night." 

The  first  gleam  of  fairness  shone  in  this  proposition  for 
Carrie.  It  seemed  a  plausible  thing  to  do,  much  as  she 
feared  his  opposition  if  she  tried  to  carry  it  out.  Mon- 
treal and  New  York!  Even  now  she  was  speeding  to- 
ward those  great,  strange  lands,  and  could  see  them  if  she 
liked.     She  thought,  but  made  no  sign. 

Hurstwood  thought  he  saw  a  shade  of  compliance  in 
this.     He  redoubled  his  ardour. 

"  Think,"  he  said,  "  what  I've  given  up.  I  can't  go 
back  to  Chicago  any  more.  I've  got  to  stay  away  and 
live  alone  now,  if  you  don't  come  with  me.  You  won't 
go  back  on  me  entirely,  will  you,  Carrie?  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  talk  to  me,"  she  answered  forcibly. 

Hurstwood  kept  silent  for  a  while. 

Carrie  felt  the  train  to  be  slowing  down.  It  was  the 
moment  to  act  if  she  was  to  act  at  all.  She  stirred  un- 
easily. 

"  Don't  think  of  going,  Carrie,"  he  said.  "  If  you  ever 
cared  for  me  at  all,  come  along  and  let's  start  right.  I'll 
do  whatever  you  say.  I'll  marry  you,  or  I'll  let  you  go 
back.  Give  yourself  time  to  think  it  over.  I  wouldn't 
have  wanted  you  to  come  if  I  hadn't  loved  you.  I  tell 
you,  Carrie,  before  God,  I  can't  live  without  you.  I 
won't!" 

There  was  the  tensity  of  fierceness  in  the  man's  plea 
which  appealed  deeply  to  her  sympathies.  It  was  a  dis- 
solving fire  which  was  actuating  him  now.  He  was  lov- 
ing her  too  intensely  to  think  of  giving  her  up  in  this, 
his  hour  of  distress.  He  clutched  her  hand  nervously 
and  pressed  it  with  all  the  force  of  an  appeal. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


301 


The  train  was  now  all  but  stopped.  It  was  running  by 
some  cars  on  a  side  track.  Everything  outside  was  dark 
and  dreary.  A  few  sprinkles  on  the  window  began  to 
indicate  that  it  was  raining.  Carrie  hung  in  a  quandary, 
balancing  between  decision  and  helplessness.  Now  the 
train  stopped,  and  she  was  listening  to  his  plea.  The 
engine  backed  a  few  feet  and  all  was  still. 

She  wavered,  totally  unable  to  make  a  move.  Minute 
after  minute  slipped  by  and  still  she  hesitated,  he  pleading. 

"  Will  you  let  me  come  back  if  I  want  to?  "  she  asked, 
as  if  she  now  had  the  upper  hand  and  her  companion  was 
utterly  subdued. 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  "  you  know  I  will." 

Carrie  only  listened  as  one  who  has  granted  a  tem- 
porary amnesty.  She  began  to  feel  as  if  the  matter  were 
in  her  hands  entirely. 

The  train  was  again  in  rapid  motion.  Hurstwood 
changed  the  subject. 

"  Aren't  you  very  tired  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  answered. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  get  you  a  berth  in  the  sleeper?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  though  for  all  her  distress  and  his 
trickery  she  was  beginning  to  notice  what  she  had  al- 
ways felt — his  thoughtfulness. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  you  will  feel  so  much  better." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Let  me  fix  my  coat  for  you,  anyway,"  and  he  arose 
and  arranged  his  light  coat  in  a  comfortable  position 
to  receive  her  head. 

"  There,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  now  see  if  you  can't  rest 
a  little."  He  could  have  kissed  her  for  her  compliance. 
He  took  his  seat  beside  her  and  thought  a  moment. 

"  I  believe  we're  in  for  a  heavy  rain,"  he  said. 

"  So  it  looks,"  said  Carrie,  whose  nerves  were  quiet- 
ing under  the  sound  of  the  rain  drops,  driven  by  a  gusty 


302  SISTER  CARRIE 

wind,  as  the  train  swept  on  frantically  through  the 
shadow  to  a  newer  world. 

The  fact  that  he  had  in  a  measure  mollified  Carrie  was 
a  source  of  satisfaction  to  Hurstwood,  but  it  furnished 
only  the  most  temporary  relief.  Now  that  her  opposition 
was  out  of  the  way,  he  had  all  of  his  time  to  devote  to  the 
consideration  of  his  own  error. 

His  condition  was  bitter  in  the  extreme,  for  he  did  not 
want  the  miserable  sum  he  had  stolen.  He  did  not  want 
to  be  a  thief.  That  sum  or  any  other  could  never  com- 
pensate for  the  state  which  he  had  thus  foolishly  doffed. 
It  could  not  give  him  back  his  host  of  friends,  his  name, 
his  house  and  family,  nor  Carrie,  as  he  had  meant  to  have 
her.  He  was  shut  out  from  Chicago — from  his  easy,  com- 
fortable state.  He  had  robbed  himself  of  his  dignity,  his 
merry  meetings,  his  pleasant  evenings.  And  for  what? 
The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  unbearable  it  became. 
He  began  to  think  that  he  would  try  and  restore  himself 
to  his  old  state.  He  would  return  the  miserable  thiev- 
ings  of  the  night  and  explain.  Perhaps  Moy  would 
understand.  Perhaps  they  would  forgive  him  and  let 
him  come  back. 

By  noontime  the  train  rolled  into  Detroit  and  he  began 
to  feel  exceedingly  nervous.  The  police  must  be  on  his 
track  by  now.  They  had  probably  notified  all  the  police 
of  the  big  cities,  and  detectives  would  be  watching  for  him. 
He  remembered  instances  in  which  defaulters  had  been 
captured.  Consequently,  he  breathed  heavily  and  paled 
somewhat.  His  hands  felt  as  if  they  must  have  some- 
thing to  do.  He  simulated  interest  in  several  scenes  with- 
out which  he  did  not  feel.  He  repeatedly  beat  his  foot 
upon  the  floor. 

Carrie  noticed  his  agitation,  but  said  nothing.  She  had 
no  idea  what  it  meant  or  that  it  was  important. 

He  wondered  now  why  he  had  not  asked  whether  this 


SISTER  CARRIE 


303 


train  went  on  through  to  Montreal  or  some  Canadian 
point.  Perhaps  he  could  have  saved  time.  He  jumped  up 
and  sought  the  conductor. 

"  Does  any  part  of  this  train  go  to  Montreal?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  the  next  sleeper  back  does." 

He  would  have  asked  more,  but  it  did  not  seem  wise, 
so  he  decided  to  inquire  at  the  depot. 

The  train  rolled  into  the  yards,  clanging  and  puffing. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  right  on  through  to  Mon- 
treal," he  said  to  Carrie.  "  I'll  see  what  the  connections 
are  when  we  get  off." 

He  was  exceedingly  nervous,  but  did  his  best  to  put  on 
a  calm  exterior.  Carrie  only  looked  at  him  with  large, 
troubled  eyes.  She  was  drifting  mentally,  unable  to  say 
to  herself  what  to  do. 

The  train  stopped  and  Hurstwood  led  the  way  out. 
He  looked  warily  around  him,  pretending  to  look  after 
Carrie.  Seeing  nothing  that  indicated  studied  observa- 
tion, he  made  his  way  to  the  ticket  office. 

"  The  next  train  for  Montreal  leaves  when  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  In  twenty  minutes,"  said  the  man. 

He  bought  two  tickets  and  Pullman  berths.  Then  he 
hastened  back  to  Carrie. 

"  We  go  right  out  again,"  he  said,  scarcely  noticing 
that  Carrie  looked  tired  and  weary. 

"  I  wish  I  was  out  of  all  this,"  she  exclaimed  gloomily. 

"  You'll  feel  better  when  we  reach  Montreal,"  he 
said. 

"  I  haven't  an  earthly  thing  with  me,"  said  Carrie ; 
"  not  even  a  handkerchief." 

"  You  can  buy  all  you  want  as  soon  as  you  get  there, 
dearest,"  he  explained.     "  You  can  call  in  a  dressmaker." 

Now  the  crier  called  the  train  ready  and  they  got  on. 
Hurstwood  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  it  started.  There 
was  a  short  run  to  the  river,  and  there  they  were  ferried 


304 


SISTER  CARRIE 


over.  They  had  barely  pulled  the  train  off  the  ferry-boat 
when  he  settled  back  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  won't  be  so  very  long  now,"  he  said,  remembering 
her  in  his  relief.  "  We  get  there  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

Carrie  scarcely  deigned  to  reply. 

"  I'll  see  if  there  is  a  dining-car,"  he  added.  "  I'm 
hungry." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  SOLACE  OF  TRAVEL:  THE  BOATS  OF  THE  SEA 

To  the  untravelled,  territory  other  than  their  own  fa- 
miliar heath  is  invariably  fascinating.  Next  to  love,  it  is 
the  one  thing  which  solaces  and  delights.  Things  new 
are  too  important  to  be  neglected,  and  mind,  which  is  a 
mere  reflection  of  sensory  impressions,  succumbs  to  the 
flood  of  objects.  Thus  lovers  are  forgotten,  sorrows  laid 
aside,  death  hidden  from  view.  There  is  a  world  of  ac- 
cumulated feeling  back  of  the  trite  dramatic  expression — 
"  I  am  going  away." 

As  Carrie  looked  out  upon  the  flying  scenery  she  al- 
most forgot  that  she  had  been  tricked  into  this  long  jour- 
ney against  her  will  and  that  she  was  without  the  neces- 
sary apparel  for  travelling.  She  quite  forgot  Hurst- 
wood's  presence  at  times,  and  looked  away  to  homely 
farmhouses  and  cosey  cottages  in  villages  with  wondering 
eyes.  It  was  an  interesting  world  to  her.  Her  life  had  just 
begun.  She  did  not  feel  herself  defeated  at  all.  Neither 
was  she  blasted  in  hope.  The  great  city  held  much.  Pos- 
sibly she  would  come  out  of  bondage  into  freedom — who 
knows?  Perhaps  she  would  be  happy.  These  thoughts 
raised  her  above  the  level  of  erring.  She  was  saved  in 
that  she  was  hopeful. 

The  following  morning  the  train  pulled  safely  into 
Montreal  and  they  stepped  down,  Hurstwood  glad  to  be 
out  of  danger,  Carrie  wondering  at  the  novel  atmos- 
phere of  the  northern  city.  Long  before,  Hurstwood 
had  been  here,  and  now  he  remembered  the  name  of 


306  SISTER  CARRIE 

the  hotel  at  which  he  had  stopped.  As  they  came  out 
of  the  main  entrance  of  the  depot  he  heard  it  called 
anew  by  a  busman. 

"  We'll  go  right  up  and  get  rooms,"  he  said. 

At  the  clerk's  office  Hurstwood  swung  the  register 
about  while  the  clerk  came  forward.  He  was  thinking 
what  name  he  would  put  down.  With  the  latter  be- 
fore him  he  found  no  time  for  hesitation.  A  name 
he  had  seen  out  of  the  car  window  came  swiftly  to  him. 
It  was  pleasing  enough.  With  an  easy  hand  he  wrote, 
"  G.  W.  Murdock  and  wife."  It  was  the  largest  con- 
cession to  necessity  he  felt  like  making.  His  initials 
he  could  not  spare. 

When  they  were  shown  their  room  Carrie  saw  at 
once  that  he  had  secured  her  a  lovely  chamber. 

"  You  have  a  bath  there,"  said  he.  "  Now  you  can 
clean  up  when  you  get  ready." 

Carrie  went  over  and  looked  out  the  window,  while 
Hurstwood  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass.  He  felt 
dusty  and  unclean.  He  had  no  trunk,  no  change  of 
linen,  not  even  a  hair-brush. 

"  I'll  ring  for  soap  and  towels,"  he  said,  "  and  send 
you  up  a  hair-brush.  Then  you  can  bathe  and  get 
ready  for  breakfast.  I'll  go  for  a  shave  and  come  back 
and  get  you,  and  then  we'll  go  out  and  look  for  some 
clothes  for  you." 

He  smiled  good-naturedly  as  he  said  this. 

"  All  right,"  said  Carrie. 

She  sat  down  in  one  of  the  rocking-chairs,  while 
Hurstwood  waited  for  the  boy,  who  soon  knocked. 

"  Soap,  towels,  and  a  pitcher  of  ice-water." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I'll  go  now,"  he  said  to  Carrie,  coming  toward  her 
and  holding  out  his  hands,  but  she  did  not  move  to  take 
them. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


307 


"  You're  not  mad  at  me,  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  softly. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  answered,  rather  indifferently. 

"  Don't  you  care  for  me  at  all  ?  " 

She  made  no  answer,  but  looked  steadily  toward  the 
window. 

"Don't  you  think  you  could  love  me  a  little?"  he 
pleaded,  taking  one  of  her  hands,  which  she  endeav- 
oured to  draw  away.     "  You  once  said  you  did." 

"  What  made  you  deceive  me  so?  "  asked  Carrie. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  he  said,  "  I  wanted  you  too 
much." 

"  You  didn't  have  any  right  to  want  me,"  she  an- 
swered, striking  cleanly  home. 

"  Oh,  well,  Carrie,"  he  answered,  "  here  I  am.  It's 
too  late  now.  Won't  you  try  and  care  for  me  a 
little?" 

He  looked  rather  worsted  in  thought  as  he  stood  be- 
fore her. 

She  shook  her  head  negatively. 

"  Let  me  start  all  over  again.  Be  my  wife  from  to- 
day on." 

Carrie  rose  up  as  if  to  step  away,  he  holding  her  hand. 
Now  he  slipped  his  arm  about  her  and  she  struggled, 
but  in  vain.  He  held  her  quite  close.  Instantly  there 
flamed  up  in  his  body  the  all-compelling  desire.  His 
affection  took  an  ardent  form. 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  Carrie,  who  was  folded  close  to 
him. 

"  Won't  you  love  me  ?  "  he  said.  "  Won't  you  be  mine 
from  now  on  ?  " 

Carrie  had  never  been  ill-disposed  toward  him.  Only 
a  moment  before  she  had  been  listening  with  some  com- 
placency, remembering  her  old  affection  for  him.  He 
was  so  handsome,  so  daring! 

Now,  however,  this  feeling  had  changed  to  one  of 


3o8  SISTER  CARRIE 

opposition,  which  rose  feebly.  It  mastered  her  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  held  close  as  she  was,  began  to 
wane.  Something  else  in  her  spoke.  This  man,  to 
whose  bosom  she  was  being  pressed,  was  strong;  he 
was  passionate,  he  loved  her,  and  she  was  alone.  If 
she  did  not  turn  to  him — accept  of  his  love — where 
else  might  she  go?  Her  resistance  half  dissolved  in 
the  flood  of  his  strong  feeling. 

She  found  him  lifting  her  head  and  looking  into  her 
eyes.  What  magnetism  there  was  she  could  never 
know.  His  many  sins,  however,  were  for  the  moment 
all  forgotten. 

He  pressed  her  closer  and  kissed  her,  and  she  felt 
that  further  opposition  was  useless. 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ?  "  she  asked,  forgetting  how. 

"  This  very  day,"  he  said,  with  all  delight. 

Now  the  hall-boy  pounded  on  the  door  and  he  re- 
leased his  hold  upon  her  regretfully. 

"  You  get  ready  now,  will  you,"  he  said,  "  at  once?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour." 

Carrie,  flushed  and  excited,  moved  away  as  he  ad- 
mitted the  boy. 

Below  stairs,  he  halted  in  the  lobby  to  look  for  a  bar- 
ber shop.  For  the  moment,  he  was  in  fine  feather.  His 
recent  victory  over  Carrie  seemed  to  atone  for  much  he 
had  endured  during  the  last  few  days.  Life  seemed 
worth  fighting  for.  This  eastward  flight  from  all 
things  customary  and  attached  seemed  as  if  it  might 
have  happiness  in  store.  The  storm  showed  a  rainbow 
at  the  end  of  which  might  be  a  pot  of  gold. 

He  was  about  to  cross  to  a  little  red-and-white 
striped  bar  which  was  fastened  up  beside  a  door  when 
a  voice  greeted  him  familiarly.  Instantly  his  heart 
sank. 


SISTER  CARRIE  309 

"  Why,  hello,  George,  old  man ! "  said  the  voice. 
"  What  are  you  doing  down  here  ?  " 

Hurstwood  was  already  confronted,  and  recognised 
his  friend  Kenny,  the  stock-broker. 
■  "  Just  attending  to  a  little  private  matter,"  he  an- 
swered, his  mind  working  like  a  key-board  of  a  tele- 
phone station.  This  man  evidently  did  not  know — he 
had  not  read  the  papers. 

"  Well,  it  seems  strange  to  see  you  way  up  here," 
said  Mr.  Kenny  genially.     "Stopping  here?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hurstwood  uneasily,  thinking  of  his 
handwriting  on  the  register. 

"  Going  to  be  in  town  long?  "■ 

"  No,  only  a  day  or  so." 

"  Is  that  so?     Had  your  breakfast?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hurstwood,  lying  blandly.  "  I'm  just 
going  for  a  shave." 

"  Won't  you  come  have  a  drink?  " 

"  Not  until  afterwards,"  said  the  ex-manager.  "  I'll 
see  you  later.     Are  you  stopping  here?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Kenny,  and  then,  turning  the  word 
again,  added:  "How  are  things  out  in  Chicago?" 

"  About  the  same  as  usual,"  said  Hurstwood,  smiling 
genially. 

"Wife  with  you?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  I  must  see  more  of  you  to-day.  I'm  just 
going  in  here  for  breakfast.  Come  in  when  you're 
through." 

"  I  will,"  said  Hurstwood,  moving  away.  The  whole 
conversation  was  a  trial  to  him.  It  seemed  to  add  com- 
plications with  every  word.  This  man  called  up  a 
thousand  memories.  He  represented  everything  he 
had  left.  Chicago,  his  wife,  the  elegant  resort — all 
these  were  in  his  greeting  and  inquiries.     And  here  he 


3io 


SISTER  CARRIE 


was  in  this  same  hotel  expecting  to  confer  with  him, 
unquestionably  waiting  to  have  a  good  time  with  him. 
All  at  once  the  Chicago  papers  would  arrive.  The  local 
papers  would  have  accounts  in  them  this  very  day.  He 
forgot  his  triumph  with  Carrie  in  the  possibility  of 
soon  being  known  for  what  he  was,  in  this  man's  eyes, 
a  safe-breaker.  He  could  have  groaned  as  he  went 
into  the  barber  shop.  He  decided  to  escape  and  seek 
a  more  secluded  hotel. 

Accordingly,  when  he  came  out  he  was  glad  to  see 
the  lobby  clear,  and  hastened  toward  the  stairs.  He 
would  get  Carrie  and  go  out  by  the  ladies'  entrance. 
They  would  have  breakfast  in  some  more  inconspicuous 
place. 

Across  the  lobby,  however,  another  individual  was 
surveying  him.  He  was  of  a  commonplace  Irish  type, 
small  of  stature,  cheaply  dressed,  and  with  a  head  that 
seemed  a  smaller  edition  of  some  huge  ward  politi- 
cian's. This  individual  had  been  evidently  talking  with 
the  clerk,  but  now  he  surveyed  the  ex-manager  keenly. 

Hurstwood  felt  the  long-range  examination  and  rec- 
ognised the  type.  Instinctively  he  felt  that  the  man 
was  a  detective — that  he  was  being  watched.  He  hur- 
ried across,  pretending  not  to  notice,  but  in  his  mind 
was  a  world  of  thoughts.  What  would  happen  now? 
What  could  these  people  do?  He  began  to  trouble 
concerning  the  extradition  laws.  He  did  not  under- 
stand them  absolutely.  Perhaps  he  could  be  arrested. 
Oh,  if  Carrie  should  find  out !  Montreal  was  too  warm 
for  him.     He  began  to  long  to  be  out  of  it. 

Carrie  had  bathed  and  was  waiting  when  he  arrived. 
She  looked  refreshed — more  delightful  than  ever,  but 
reserved.  Since  he  had  gone  she  had  resumed  some- 
what of  her  cold  attitude  towards  him.  Love  was  not 
blazing  in  her  heart.    He  felt  it,  and  his  troubles  seemed 


SISTER  CARRIE  311 

increased.  He  could  not  take  her  in  his  arms ;  he  did 
not  even  try.  Something  about  her  forbade  it.  In 
part  his  opinion  was  the  result  of  his  own  experiences 
and  reflections  below  stairs. 

"  You're  ready,  are  you  ?  "  he  said  kindly. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  We'll  go  out  for  breakfast.  This  place  down  here 
doesn't  appeal  to  me  very  much." 

"  All  right,"  said  Carrie. 

They  went  out,  and  at  the  corner  the  commonplace 
Irish  individual  was  standing,  eyeing  him.  Hurst- 
wood  could  scarcely  refrain  from  showing  that  he  knew 
of  this  chap's  presence.  The  insolence  in  the  fellow's 
eye  was  galling.  Still  they  passed,  and  he  explained  to 
Carrie  concerning  the  city.  Another  restaurant  was 
not  long  in  showing  itself,  and  here  they  entered. 

"  What  a  queer  town  this  is,"  said  Carrie,  who  mar- 
velled at  it  solely  because  it  was  not  like  Chicago. 

"  It  isn't  as  lively  as  Chicago,"  said  Hurstwood. 
"Don't  you  like  it?" 

"  No,"  said  Carrie,  whose  feelings  were  already  local- 
ised in  the  great  Western  city. 

"  Well,  it  isn't  as  interesting,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"What's  here?"  asked  Carrie,  wondering  at  his 
choosing  to  visit  this  town. 

"  Nothing  much,"  returned  Hurstwood.  "  It's  quite 
a  resort.     There's  some  pretty  scenery  about  here." 

Carrie  listened,  but  with  a  feeling  of  unrest.  There 
was  much  about  her  situation  which  destroyed  the  pos- 
sibility of  appreciation. 

"  We  won't  stay  here  long,"  said  Hurstwood,  who 
was  now  really  glad  to  note  her  dissatisfaction.  "  You 
pick  out  your  clothes  as  soon  as  breakfast  is  over  and 
we'll  run  down  to  New  York  soon.  You'll  like  that.  It's 
a  lot  more  like  a  city  than  any  place  outside  Chicago." 


3i2  SISTER  CARRIE 

He  was  really  planning  to  slip  out  and  away.  He 
would  see  what  these  detectives  would  do — what  move 
his  employers  at  Chicago  would  make — then  he  would 
slip  away — down  to  New  York,  where  it  was  easy  to 
hide.  He  knew  enough  about  that  city  to  know  that 
its  mysteries  and  possibilities  of  mystification  were 
infinite. 

The  more  he  thought,  however,  the  more  wretched 
his  situation  became.  He  saw  that  getting  here  did 
not  exactly  clear  up  the  ground.  The  firm  would  prob- 
ably employ  detectives  to  watch  him — Pinkerton  men 
or  agents  of  Mooney  and  Boland.  They  might  arrest 
him  the  moment  he  tried  to  leave  Canada.  So  he  might 
be  compelled  to  remain  here  months,  and  in  what  a 
state ! 

Back  at  the  hotel  Hurstwood  was  anxious  and  yet 
fearful  to  see  the  morning  papers.  He  wanted  to  know 
how  far  the  news  of  his  criminal  deed  had  spread.  So  he 
told  Carrie  he  would  be  up  in  a  few  moments,  and  went 
to  secure  and  scan  the  dailies.  No  familiar  or  sus- 
picious faces  were  about,  and  yet  he  did  not  like  reading 
in  the  lobby,  so  he  sought  the  main  parlour  on  the  floor 
above  and,  seated  by  a  window  there,  looked  them  over. 
Very  little  was  given  to  his  crime,  but  it  was  there, 
several  "  sticks  "  in  all,  among  all  the  riffraff  of  tele- 
graphed murders,  accidents,  marriages,  and  other  news. 
He  wished,  half  sadly,  that  he  could  undo  it  all.  Every 
moment  of  his  time  in  this  far-off  abode  of  safety  but 
added  to  his  feeling  that  he  had  made  a  great  mistake. 
There  could  have  been  an  easier  way  out  if  he  had  only 
known. 

He  left  the  papers  before  going  to  the  room,  thinking 
thus  to  keep  them  out  of  the  hands  of  Carrie. 

"  Well,  how  are  you  feeling?  "  he  asked  of  her.  She 
was  engaged  in  looking  out  of  the  window. 


SISTER  CARRIE  313 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  she  answered. 

He  came  over,  and  was  about  to  begin  a  conversation 
with  her,  when  a  knock  came  at  their  door. 

"  Maybe  it's  one  of  my  parcels,"  said  Carrie. 

Hurstwood  opened  the  door,  outside  of  which  stood 
the  individual  whom  he  had  so  thoroughly  suspected. 

"  You're  Mr.  Hurstwood,  are  you  ?  "  said  the  latter, 
with  a  volume  of  affected  shrewdness  and  assurance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hurstwood  calmly.  He  knew  the  type 
so  thoroughly  that  some  of  his  old  familiar  indifference 
to  it  returned.  Such  men  as  these  were  of  the  lowest 
stratum  welcomed  at  the  resort.  He  stepped  out  and 
closed  the  door. 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  am  here  for,  don't  you  ?  " 
said  the  man  confidentially. 

"  I  can  guess,"  said  Hurstwood  softly. 

"  Well,  do  you  intend  to  try  and  keep  the  money?  " 

"  That's  my  affair,"  said  Hurstwood  grimly. 

"  You  can't  do  it,  you  know,"  said  the  detective,  eye- 
ing him  coolly. 

"  Look  here,  my  man,"  said  Hurstwood  authorita- 
tively, "  you  don't  understand  anything  about  this  case, 
and  I  can't  explain  to  you.  Whatever  I  intend  to  do 
I'll  do  without  advice  from  the  outside.  You'll  have  to 
excuse  me." 

"  Well,  now,  there's  no  use  of  your  talking  that  way," 
said  the  man,  "  when  you're  in  the  hands  of  the  police. 
We  can  make  a  lot  of  trouble  for  you  if  we  want  to. 
You're  not  registered  right  in  this  house,  you  haven't 
got  your  wife  with  you,  and  the  newspapers  don't  know 
you're  here  yet.     You  might  as  well  be  reasonable." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  ?  "  asked  Hurstwood. 

"  Whether  you're  going  to  send  back  that  money  or 
not." 

Hurstwood  paused  and  studied  the  floor. 


314 


SISTER  CARRIE 


"  There's  no  use  explaining  to  you  about  this,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  There's  no  use  of  your  asking  me.  I'm 
no  fool,  you  know.  I  know  just  what  you  can  do  and 
what  you  can't.  You  can  create  a  lot  of  trouble  if  you 
want  to.  I  know  that  all  right,  but  it  won't  help  you 
to  get  the  money.  Now,  I've  made  up  my  mind  what 
to  do.  I've  already  written  Fitzgerald  and  Moy,  so 
there's  nothing  I  can  say.  You  wait  until  you  hear 
more  from  them." 

All  the  time  he  had  been  talking  he  had  been  moving 
away  from  the  door,  down  the  corridor,  out  of  the 
hearing  of  Carrie.  They  were  now  near  the  end  where 
the  corridor  opened  into  the  large  general  parlour. 

"  You  won't  give  it  up?  "  said  the  man. 

The  words  irritated  Hurstwood  greatly.  Hot  blood 
poured  into  his  brain.  Many  thoughts  formulated 
themselves.  He  was  no  thief.  He  didn't  want  the 
money.  If  he  could  only  explain  to  Fitzgerald  and 
Moy,  maybe  it  would  be  all  right  again. 

"  See  here,"  he  said,  "  there's  no  use  my  talking  about 
this  at  all.  I  respect  your  power  all  right,  but  I'll  have 
to  deal  with  the  people  who  know." 

"  Well,  you  can't  get  out  of  Canada  with  it,"  said  the 
man. 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  out,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  When 
I  get  ready  there'll  be  nothing  to  stop  me  for." 

He  turned  back,  and  the  detective  watched  him 
closely.  It  seemed  an  intolerable  thing.  Still  he  went 
on  and  into  the  room. 

"  Who  was  it?  "  asked  Carrie. 

"  A  friend  of  mine  from  Chicago." 

The  whole  of  this  conversation  was  such  a  shock 
that,  coming  as  it  did  after  all  the  other  worry  of  the 
past  week,  it  sufficed  to  induce  a  deep  gloom  and  moral 
revulsion  in  Hurstwood.     What  hurt  him  most  was  the 


SISTER  CARRIE  315 

fact  that  he  was  being  pursued  as  a  thief.  He  began 
to  see  the  nature  of  that  social  injustice  which  sees  but 
one  side — often  but  a  single  point  in  a  long  tragedy. 
All  the  newspapers  noted  but  one  thing,  his  taking  the 
money.  How  and  wherefore  were  but  indifferently 
dealt  with.  All  the  complications  which  led  up  to  it 
were  unknown.  He  was  accused  without  being  under- 
stood. 

Sitting  in  his  room  with  Carrie  the  same  day,  he  de- 
cided to  send  the  money  back.  He  would  write  Fitz- 
gerald and  Moy,  explain  all,  and  then  send  it  by  ex- 
press. Maybe  they  would  forgive  him.  Perhaps  they 
would  ask  him  back.  He  would  make  good  the  false 
statement  he  had  made  about  writing  them.  Then  he 
would  leave  this  peculiar  town. 

For  an  hour  he  thought  over  this  plausible  statement 
of  the  tangle.  He  wanted  to  tell  them  about  his  wife, 
but  couldn't.  He  finally  narrowed  it  down  to  an  asser- 
tion that  he  was  light-headed  from  entertaining  friends, 
had  found  the  safe  open,  and  having  gone  so  far  as  to 
take  the  money  out,  had  accidentally  closed  it.  This  act 
he  regretted  very  much.  He  was  sorry  he  had  put  them 
to  so  much  trouble.  He  would  undo  what  he  could  by 
sending  the  money  back — the  major  portion  of  it.  The 
remainder  he  would  pay  up  as  soon  as  he  could.  Was 
there  any  possibility  of  his  being  restored?  This  he 
only  hinted  at. 

The  troubled  state  of  the  man's  mind  may  be  judged 
by  the  very  construction  of  this  letter.  For  the  nonce 
he  forgot  what  a  painful  thing  it  would  be  to  resume  his 
old  place,  even  if  it  were  given  him.  He  forgot  that  he 
had  severed  himself  from  the  past  as  by  a  sword,  and 
that  if  he  did  manage  to  in  some  way  reunite  himself 
with  it,  the  jagged  line  of  separation  and  reunion  would 
always  show.     He  was  always  forgetting  something — 


3i6  SISTER  CARRIE 

his  wife,  Carrie,  his  need  of  money,  present  situation, 
or  something — and  so  did  not  reason  clearly.  Never- 
theless, he  sent  the  letter,  waiting  a  reply  before  send- 
ing the  money. 

Meanwhile,  he  accepted  his  present  situation  with 
Carrie,  getting  what  joy  out  of  it  he  could. 

Out  came  the  sun  by  noon,  and  poured  a  golden 
flood  through  their  open  windows.  Sparrows  were 
twittering.  There  were  laughter  and  song  in  the  air. 
Hurstwood  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  Carrie.  She 
seemed  the  one  ray  of  sunshine  in  all  his  trouble.  Oh, 
if  she  would  only  love  him  wholly — only  throw  her 
arms  around  him  in  the  blissful  spirit  in  which  he  had 
seen  her  in  the  little  park  in  Chicago — how  happy  he 
would  be !  It  would  repay  him ;  it  would  show  him 
that  he  had  not  lost  all.     He  would  not  care. 

"  Carrie,"  he  said,  getting  up  once  and  coming  over 
to  her,  "  are  you  going  to  stay  with  me  from  now  on  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  quizzically,  but  melted  with  sym- 
pathy as  the  value  of  the  look  upon  his  face  forced  itself 
upon  her.  It  was  love  now,  keen  and  strong — love  en- 
hanced by  difficulty  and  worry.  She  could  not  help 
smiling. 

"  Let  me  be  everything  to  you  from  now  on,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  make  me  worry  any  more.  I'll  be  true  to  you. 
We'll  go  to  New  York  and  get  a  nice  flat.  I'll  go  into 
business  again,  and  we'll  be  happy.  Won't  you  be 
mine?" 

Carrie  listened  quite  solemnly.  There  was  no  great 
passion  in  her,  but  the  drift  of  things  and  this  man's 
proximity  created  a  semblance  of  affection.  She  felt 
rather  sorry  for  him — a  sorrow  born  of  what  had  only 
recently  been  a  great  admiration.  True  love  she  had 
never  felt  for  him.  She  would  have  known  as  much 
if  she  could  have  analysed  her  feelings,  but  this  thing 


SISTER  CARRIE  317 

which  she  now  felt  aroused  by  his  great  feeling  broke 
down  the  barriers  between  them. 

"  You'll  stay  with  me,  won't  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head. 

He  gathered  her  to  himself,  imprinting  kisses  upon 
her  lips  and  cheeks. 

"  You  must  marry  me,  though,"  she  said. 

"  I'll  get  a  license  to-day,"  he  answered. 

"How?  "she  asked. 

"  Under  a  new  name,"  he  answered.  "  I'll  take  a  new 
name  and  live  a  new  life.    From  now  on  I'm  Murdock." 

"  Oh,  don't  take  that  name,"  said  Carrie. 

"Why  not?  "he  said. 

"  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Well,  what  shall  I  take?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  anything,  only  don't  take  that." 

He  thought  a  while,  still  keeping  his  arms  about  her, 
and  then  said : 

"  How  would  Wheeler  do?  " 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  then,  Wheeler,"  he  said.  "  I'll  get  the  li- 
cense this  afternoon." 

They  were  married  by  a  Baptist  minister,  the  first  divine 
they  found  convenient. 

At  last  the  Chicago  firm  answered.  It  was  by  Mr. 
Moy's  dictation.  He  was  astonished  that  Hurstwood 
had  done  this ;  very  sorry  that  it  had  come  about  as  it 
had.  If  the  money  were  returned,  they  would  not 
trouble  to  prosecute  him,  as  they  really  bore  him  no 
ill-will.  As  for  his  returning,  or  their  restoring  him  to 
his  former  position,  they  had  not  quite  decided  what 
the  effect  of  it  would  be.  They  would  think  it  over 
and  correspond  with  him  later,  possibly,  after  a  little 
time,  and  so  on. 

The  sum  and  substance  of  it  was  that  there  was  no 


3i8  SISTER  CARRIE 

hope,  and  they  wanted  the  money  with  the  least  trouble 
possible.  Hurstwood  read  his  doom.  He  decided  to 
pay  $9,500  to  the  agent  whom  they  said  they  would 
send,  keeping  $1,300  for  his  own  use.  He  telegraphed 
his  acquiescence,  explained  to  the  representative  who 
called  at  the  hotel  the  same  day,  took  a  certificate  of 
payment,  and  told  Carrie  to  pack  her  trunk.  He  was 
slightly  depressed  over  this  newest  move  at  the  time 
he  began  to  make  it,  but  eventually  restored  himself. 
He  feared  that  even  yet  he  might  be  seized  and  taken 
back,  so  he  tried  to  conceal  his  movements,  but  it  was 
scarcely  possible.  He  ordered  Carrie's  trunk  sent  to 
the  depot,  where  he  had  it  sent  by  express  to  New 
York.  No  one  seemed  to  be  observing  him,  but  he  left 
at  night.  He  was  greatly  agitated  lest  at  the  first  sta- 
tion across  the  border  or  at  the  depot  in  New  York  there 
should  be  waiting  for  him  an  officer  of  the  law. 

Carrie,  ignorant  of  his  theft  and  his  fears,  enjoyed  the 
entry  into  the  latter  city  in  the  morning.  The  round 
green  hills  sentinelling  the  broad,  expansive  bosom  of 
the  Hudson  held  her  attention  by  their  beauty  as  the 
train  followed  the  line  of  the  stream.  She  had  heard 
of  the  Hudson  River,  the  great  city  of  New  York,  and 
now  she  looked  out,  filling  her  mind  with  the  wonder 
of  it. 

As  the  train  turned  east  at  Spuyten  Duyvil  and  fol- 
lowed the  east  bank  of  the  Harlem  River,  Hurstwood 
nervously  called  her  attention  to  the  fact  that  they  were 
on  the  edge  of  the  city.  After  her  experience  with 
Chicago,  she  expected  long  lines  of  cars — a  great  high- 
way of  tracks — and  noted  the  difference.  The  sight 
of  a  few  boats  in  the  Harlem  and  more  in  the  East  River 
tickled  her  young  heart.  It  was  the  first  sign  of  the 
great  sea.  Next  came  a  plain  street  with  five-story 
brick  flats,  and  then  the  train  plunged  into  the  tunnel. 


SISTER  CARRIE  319 

"  Grand  Central  Station !  "  called  the  trainman,  as, 
after  a  few  minutes  of  darkness  and  smoke,  daylight 
reappeared.  Hurstwood  arose  and  gathered  up  his 
small  grip.  He  was  screwed  up  to  the  highest  tension. 
With  Carrie  he  waited  at  the  door  and  then  dismounted. 
No  one  approached  him,  but  he  glanced  furtively  to  and 
fro  as  he  made  for  the  street  entrance.  So  excited  was 
he  that  he  forgot  all  about  Carrie,  who  fell  behind,  won- 
dering at  his  self-absorption.  As  he  passed  through 
the  depot  proper  the  strain  reached  its  climax  and  be- 
gan to  wane.  All  at  once  he  was  on  the  sidewalk,  and 
none  but  cabmen  hailed  him.  He  heaved  a  great  breath 
and  turned,  remembering  Carrie. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  run  off  and  leave  me," 
she  said. 

"  I  was  trying  to  remember  which  car  takes  us  to  the 
Gilsey,"  he  answered. 

Carrie  hardly  heard  him,  so  interested  was  she  in  the 
busy  scene. 

"  How  large  is  New  York  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  a  million  or  more,"  said  Hurstwood. 

He  looked  around  and  hailed  a  cab,  but  he  did  so  in 
a  changed  way. 

For  the  first  time  in  years  the  thought  that  he  must 
count  these  little  expenses  flashed  through  his  mind. 
It  was  a  disagreeable  thing. 

He  decided  he  would  lose  no  time  living  in  hotels 
but  would  rent  a  flat.  Accordingly  he  told  Carrie,  and 
she  agreed. 

"  We'll  look  to-day,  if  you  want  to,"  she  said. 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  his  experience  in  Montreal. 
At  the  more  important  hotels  he  would  be  certain  to 
meet  Chicagoans  whom  he  knew.  He  stood  up  and 
spoke  to  the  driver. 

"  Take  me  to  the  Belford,"  he  said,  knowing  it  to  be 


320  SISTER  CARRIE 

less  frequented  by  those  whom  he  knew.  Then  he  sat 
down. 

"Where  is  the  residence  part?"  asked  Carrie,  who 
did  not  take  the  tall  five-story  walls  on  either  hand  to 
be  the  abodes  of  families. 

"  Everywhere,"  said  Hurstwood,  who  knew  the  city 
fairly  well.  "  There  are  no  lawns  in  New  York.  All 
these  are  houses." 

"  Well,  then,  I  don't  like  it,"  said  Carrie,  who  was 
coming  to  have  a  few  opinions  of  her  own. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE   KINGDOM    OF   GREATNESS:    THE  PILGRIM    ADREAM 

Whatever  a  man  like  Hurstwood  could  be  in  Chicago, 
it  is  very  evident  that  he  would  be  but  an  inconspicuous 
drop  in  an  ocean  like  New  York.  In  Chicago,  whose 
population  still  ranged  about  500,000,  millionaires  were 
not  numerous.  The  rich  had  not  become  so  conspicu- 
ously rich  as  to  drown  all  moderate  incomes  in  obscu- 
rity. The  attention  of  the  inhabitants  was  not  so  dis- 
tracted by  local  celebrities  in  the  dramatic,  artistic, 
social,  and  religious  fields  as  to  shut  the  well-posi- 
tioned man  from  view.  In  Chicago  the  two  roads  to 
distinction  were  politics  and  trade.  In  New  York  the 
roads  were  any  one  of  a  half-hundred,  and  each  had 
been  diligently  pursued  by  hundreds,  so  that  celebrities 
were  numerous.  The  sea  was  already  full  of  whales. 
A  common  fish  must  needs  disappear  wholly  from  view 
— remain  unseen.  In  other  words,  Hurstwood  was 
nothing. 

There  is  a  more  subtle  result  of  such  a  situation  as 
this,  which,  though  not  always  taken  into  account,  pro- 
duces the  tragedies  of  the  world.  The  great  create  an 
atmosphere  which  reacts  badly  upon  the  small.  This 
atmosphere  is  easily  and  quickly  felt.  Walk  among 
the  magnificent  residences,  the  splendid  equipages,  the 
gilded  shops,  restaurants,  resorts  of  all  kinds;  scent 
the  flowers,  the  silks,  the  wines ;  drink  of  the  laughter 
springing  from  the  soul  of  luxurious  content,  of  the 


322  SISTER  CARRIE 

glances  which  gleam  like  light  from  defiant  spears ;  feel 
the  quality  of  the  smiles  which  cut  like  glistening 
swords  and  of  strides  born  of  place,  and  you  shall  know 
of  what  is  the  atmosphere  of  the  high  and  mighty. 
Little  use  to  argue  that  of  such  is  not  the  kingdom  of 
greatness,  but  so  long  as  the  world  is  attracted  by  this 
and  the  human  heart  views  this  as  the  one  desirable 
realm  which  it  must  attain,  so  long,  to  that  heart,  will 
this  remain  the  realm  of  greatness.  So  long,  also,  will 
the  atmosphere  of  this  realm  work  its  desperate  results 
in  the  soul  of  man.  It  is  like  a  chemical  reagent.  One 
day  of  it,  like  one  drop  of  the  other,  will  so  affect  and 
discolour  the  views,  the  aims,  the  desire  of  the  mind, 
that  it  will  thereafter  remain  forever  dyed.  A  day  of 
it  to  the  untried  mind  is  like  opium  to  the  untried  body. 
A  craving  is  set  up  which,  if  gratified,  shall  eternally 
result  in  dreams  and  death.  Aye !  dreams  unfulfilled — 
gnawing,  luring,  idle  phantoms  which  beckon  and  lead, 
beckon  and  lead,  until  death  and  dissolution  dissolve 
their  power  and  restore  us  blind  to  nature's  heart. 

A  man  of  Hurstwood's  age  and  temperament  is  not 
subject  to  the  illusions  and  burning  desires  of  youth, 
but  neither  has  he  the  strength  of  hope  which  gushes 
as  a  fountain  in  the  heart  of  youth.  Such  an  atmos- 
phere could  not  incite  in  him  the  cravings  of  a  boy  of 
eighteen,  but  in  so  far  as  they  were  excited,  the  lack  of 
hope  made  them  proportionately  bitter.  •  He  could  not 
fail  to  notice  the  signs  of  affluence  and  luxury  on  every 
hand.  He  had  been  to  New  York  before  and  knew  the 
resources  of  its  folly.  In  part  it  was  an  awesome  place 
to  him,  for  here  gathered  all  that  he  most  respected  on 
this  earth — wealth,  place,  and  fame.  The  majority  of  the 
celebrities  with  whom  he  had  tipped  glasses  in  his  day 
as  manager  hailed  from  this  self-centred  and  populous 
spot.     The  most  inviting  stories  of  pleasure  and  luxury 


SISTER  CARRIE 


323 


had  been  told  of  places  and  individuals  here.  He  knew 
it  to  be  true  that  unconsciously  he  was  brushing  elbows 
with  fortune  the  livelong  day;  that  a  hundred  or  five 
hundred  thousand  gave  no  one  the  privilege  of  living 
more  than  comfortably  in  so  wealthy  a  place.  Fashion 
and  pomp  required  more  ample  sums,  so  that  the  poor 
man  was  nowhere.  All  this  he  realised,  now  quite 
sharply,  as  he  faced  the  city,  cut  off  from  his  friends, 
despoiled  of  his  modest  fortune,  and  even  his  name,  and 
forced  to  begin  the  battle  for  place  and  comfort  all  over 
again.  He  was  not  old,  but  he  was  not  so  dull  but  that 
he  could  feel  he  soon  would  be.  Of  a  sudden,  then,  this 
show  of  fine  clothes,  place,  and  power  took  on  peculiar 
significance.  It  was  emphasised  by  contrast  with  his 
own  distressing  state. 

And  it  was  distressing.  He  soon  found  that  freedom 
from  fear  of  arrest  was  not  the  sine  qua  non  of  his  exist- 
ence. That  danger  dissolved,  the  next  necessity  be- 
came the  grievous  thing.  The  paltry  sum  of  thirteen 
hundred  and  some  odd  dollars  set  against  the  need  of 
rent,  clothing,  food,  and  pleasure  for  years  to  come  was 
a  spectacle  little  calculated  to  induce  peace  of  mind  in 
one  who  had  been  accustomed  to  spend  five  times  that 
sum  in  the  course  of  a  year.  He  thought  upon  the  sub- 
ject rather  actively  the  first  few  days  he  was  in  New 
York,  and  decided  that  he  must  act  quickly.  As  a  con- 
sequence, he  consulted  the  business  opportunities  ad- 
vertised in  the  morning  papers  and  began  investiga- 
tions on  his  own  account. 

That  was  not  before  he  had  become  settled,  how- 
ever. Carrie  and  he  went  looking  for  a  flat,  as  ar- 
ranged, and  found  one  in  Seventy-eighth  Street  near 
Amsterdam  Avenue.  It  was  a  five-story  building, 
and  their  flat  was  on  the  third  floor.  Owing  to  the 
fact  that  the  street  was  not  yet  built  up  solidly,  it 


324  SISTER  CARRIE 

was  possible  to  see  east  to  the  green  tops  of  the  trees 
in  Central  Park  and  west  to  the  broad  waters  of  the 
Hudson,  a  glimpse  of  which  was  to  be  had  out  of  the 
west  windows.  For  the  privilege  of  six  rooms  and 
a  bath,  running  in  a  straight  line,  they  were  compelled 
to  pay  thirty-five  dollars  a  month — an  average,  and  yet 
exorbitant,  rent  for  a  home  at  the  time.  Carrie  noticed 
the  difference  between  the  size  of  the  rooms  here  and 
in  Chicago  and  mentioned  it. 

"  You'll  not  find  anything  better,  dear,"  said  Hurst- 
wood,  "  unless  you  go  into  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
houses,  and  then  you  won't  have  any  of  these  con- 
veniences." 

Carrie  picked  out  the  new  abode  because  of  its  new- 
ness and  bright  wood-work.  It  was  one  of  the  very 
new  ones  supplied  with  steam  heat,  which  was  a 
great  advantage.  The  stationary  range,  hot  and  cold 
water,  dumb-waiter,  speaking  tubes,  and  call-bell  for 
the  janitor  pleased  her  very  much.  She  had  enough 
of  the  instincts  of  a  housewife  to  take  great  satisfaction 
in  these  things. 

Hurstwood  made  arrangement  with  one  of  the  instal- 
ment houses  whereby  they  furnished  the  flat  complete 
and  accepted  fifty  dollars  down  and  ten  dollars  a  month. 
He  then  had  a  little  plate,  bearing  the  name  G.  W. 
Wheeler,  made,  which  he  placed  on  his  letter-box  in 
the  hall.  It  sounded  exceedingly  odd  to  Carrie  to  be 
called  Mrs.  Wheeler  by  the  janitor,  but  in  time  she 
became  used  to  it  and  looked  upon  the  name  as  her 
own. 

These  house  details  settled,  Hurstwood  visited  some 
of  the  advertised  opportunities  to  purchase  an  interest 
in  some  flourishing  down-town  bar.  After  the  palatial 
resort  in  Adams  Street,  he  could  not  stomach  the  com- 
monplace saloons  which  he  found  advertised.     He  lost 


SISTER  CARRIE  325 

a  number  of  days  looking  up  these  and  finding  them 
disagreeable.  He  did,  however,  gain  considerable 
knowledge  by  talking,  for  he  discovered  the  influence 
of  Tammany  Hall  and  the  value  of  standing  in  with 
the  police.  The  most  profitable  and  flourishing  places 
he  found  to  be  those  which  conducted  anything  but  a 
legitimate  business,  such  as  that  controlled  by  Fitz- 
gerald and  Moy.  Elegant  back  rooms  and  private 
drinking  booths  on  the  second  floor  were  usually  ad- 
juncts of  very  profitable  places.  He  saw  by  portly 
keepers,  whose  shirt  fronts  shone  with  large  diamonds, 
and  whose  clothes  were  properly  cut,  that  the  liquor 
business  here,  as  elsewhere,  yielded  the  same  golden 
profit. 

At  last  he  found  an  individual  who  had  a  resort  in 
Warren  Street,  which  seemed  an  excellent  venture.  It 
was  fairly  well-appearing  and  susceptible  of  improve- 
ment. The  owner  claimed  the  business  to  be  excellent, 
and  it  certainly  looked  so. 

"  We  deal  with  a  very  good  class  of  people,"  he  told 
Hurstwood.  "  Merchants,  salesmen,  and  professionals. 
It's  a  well-dressed  class.  No  bums.  We  don't  allow 
'em  in  the  place." 

Hurstwood  listened  to  the  cash-register  ring,  and 
watched  the  trade  for  a  while. 

"  It's  profitable  enough  for  two,  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself  if  you're  any  judge  of  the 
liquor  trade,"  said  the  owner.  "  This  is  only  one  of  the 
two  places  I  have.  The  other  is  down  in  Nassau  Street. 
I  can't  tend  to  them  both  alone.  If  I  had  some  one  who 
knew  the  business  thoroughly  I  wouldn't  mind  sharing 
with  him  in  this  one  and  letting  him  manage  it." 

"  I've  had  experience  enough,"  said  Hurstwood 
blandly,  but  he  felt  a  little  diffident  about  referring  to 
Fitzgerald  and  Moy. 


326  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Well,  you  can  suit  yourself,  Mr.  Wheeler,"  said  the 
proprietor. 

He  only  offered  a  third  interest  in  the  stock,  fixtures, 
and  good-will,  and  this  in  return  for  a  thousand  dollars 
and  managerial  ability  on  the  part  of  the  one  who 
should  come  in.  There  was  no  property  involved,  be- 
cause the  owner  of  the  saloon  merely  rented  from  an 
estate. 

The  offer  was  genuine  enough,  but  it  was  a  question 
with  Hurstwood  whether  a  third  interest  in  that  local- 
ity could  be  made  to  yield  one  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars a  month,  which  he  figured  he  must  have  in  order 
to  meet  the  ordinary  family  expenses  and  be  com- 
fortable. It  was  not  the  time,  however,  after  many 
failures  to  find  what  he  wanted,  to  hesitate.  It  looked 
as  though  a  third  would  pay  a  hundred  a  month  now. 
By  judicious  management  and  improvement,  it  might 
be  made  to  pay  more.  Accordingly  he  agreed  to  enter 
into  partnership,  and  made  over  his  thousand  dollars, 
preparing  to  enter  the  next  day. 

His  first  inclination  was  to  be  elated,  and  he  con- 
fided to  Carrie  that  he  thought  he  had  made  an  excel- 
lent arrangement.  Time,  however,  introduced  food  for 
reflection.  He  found  his  partner  to  be  very  disagree- 
able. Frequently  he  was  the  worse  for  liquor,  which 
made  him  surly.  This  was  the  last  thing  which  Hurst- 
wood was  used  to  in  business.  Besides,  the  business 
varied.  It  was  nothing  like  the  class  of  patronage 
which  he  had  enjoyed  in  Chicago.  He  found  that  it 
would  take  a  long  time  to  make  friends.  These  people 
hurried  in  and  out  without  seeking  the  pleasures  of 
friendship.  It  was  no  gathering  or  lounging  place. 
Whole  days  and  weeks  passed  without  one  such  hearty 
greeting  as  he  had  been  wont  to  enjoy  every  day  in 
Chicago. 


SISTER  CARRIE  327 

For  another  thing,  Hurstwood  missed  the  celebrities 
— those  well-dressed,  ilite  individuals  who  lend  grace 
to  the  average  bars  and  bring  news  from  far-off  and 
exclusive  circles.  He  did  not  see  one  such  in  a  month. 
Evenings,  when  still  at  his  post,  he  would  occasionally 
read  in  the  evening  papers  incidents  concerning  celeb- 
rities whom  he  knew — whom  he  had  drunk  a  glass 
with  many  a  time.  They  would  visit  a  bar  like  Fitz- 
gerald and  Moy's  in  Chicago,  or  the  Hoffman  House, 
uptown,  but  he  knew  that  he  would  never  see  them 
down  here. 

Again,  the  business  did  not  pay  as  well  as  he 
thought.  It  increased  a  little,  but  he  found  he  would 
have  to  watch  his  household  expenses,  which  was 
humiliating. 

In  the  very  beginning  it  was  a  delight  to  go  home 
late  at  night,  as  he  did,  and  find  Carrie.  He  managed 
to  run  up  and  take  dinner  with  her  between  six  and 
seven,  and  to  remain  home  until  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  but  the  novelty  of  this  waned  after  a  time, 
and  he  began  to  feel  the  drag  of  his  duties. 

The  first  month  had  scarcely  passed  before  Carrie 
said  in  a  very  natural  way :  "  I  think  I'll  go  down  this 
week  and  buy  a  dress." 

"  What  kind  ?  "  said  Hurstwood. 

"  Oh,  something  for  street  wear." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered,  smiling,  although  he  noted 
mentally  that  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  his  finances 
if  she  didn't.  Nothing  was  said  about  it  the  next  day, 
but  the  following  morning  he  asked : 

"  Have  you  done  anything  about  your  dress  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Carrie. 

He  paused  a  few  moments,  as  if  in  thought,  and 
then  said: 

"  Would  you  mind  putting  it  off  a  few  days  ?  " 


328  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  No,"  replied  Carrie,  who  did  not  catch  the  drift  of 
his  remarks.  She  had  never  thought  of  him  in  connec- 
tion with  money  troubles  before.     "  Why  ?  '•' 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  This  invest- 
ment of  mine  is  taking  a  lot  of  money  just  now.  I  ex- 
pect to  get  it  all  back  shortly,  but  just  at  present  I  am 
running  close." 

"  Oh !  "  answered  Carrie.  "  Why,  certainly,  dear. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  " 

"  It  wasn't  necessary,"  said  Hurstwood. 

For  all  her  acquiescence,  there  was  something  about 
the  way  Hurstwood  spoke  which  reminded  Carrie  of 
Drouet  and  his  little  deal  which  he  was  always  about 
to  put  through.  It  was  only  the  thought  of  a  second, 
but  it  was  a  beginning.  It  was  something  new  in  her 
thinking  of  Hurstwood. 

Other  things  followed  from  time  to  time,  little  things 
of  the  same  sort,  which  in  their  cumulative  effect  were 
eventually  equal  to  a  full  revelation.  Carrie  was  not 
dull  by  any  means.  Two  persons  cannot  long  dwell 
together  without  coming  to  an  understanding  of  one 
another.  The  mental  difficulties  of  an  individual  re- 
veal themselves  whether  he  voluntarily  confesses  them 
or  not.  Trouble  gets  in  the  air  and  contributes  gloom, 
which  speaks  for  itself.  Hurstwood  dressed  as  nicely 
as  usual,  but  they  were  the  same  clothes  he  had  in  Can- 
ada. Carrie  noticed  that  he  did  not  install  a  large  ward- 
robe, though  his  own  was  anything  but  large.  She  no- 
ticed, also,  that  he  did  not  suggest  many  amusements, 
said  nothing  a,bout  the  food,  seemed  concerned  about 
his  business.  This  was  not  the  easy  Hurstwood  of 
Chicago — not  the  liberal,  opulent  Hurstwood  she  had 
known.  The  change  was  too  obvious  to  escape 
detection. 

In  time  she  began  to  feel  that  a  change  had  come 


SISTER  CARRIE  329 

about,  and  that  she  was  not  in  his  confidence.  He  was 
evidently  secretive  and  kept  his  own  counsel.  She 
found  herself  asking  him  questions  about  little  things. 
This  is  a  disagreeable  state  to  a  woman.  Great  love 
makes  it  seem  reasonable,  sometimes  plausible,  but 
never  satisfactory.  Where  great  love  is  not,  a  more 
definite  and  less  satisfactory  conclusion  is  reached. 

As  for  Hurstwood,  he  was  making  a  great  fight 
against  the  difficulties  of  a  changed  condition.  He  was 
too  shrewd  not  to  realise  the  tremendous  mistake  he  had 
made,  and  appreciate  that  he  had  done  well  in  getting 
where  he  was,  and  yet  he  could  not  help  contrasting  his 
present  state  with  his  former,  hour  after  hour,  and  day 
after  day. 

Besides,  he  had  the  disagreeable  fear  of  meeting  old- 
time  friends,  ever  since  one  such  encounter  which  he 
made  shortly  after  his  arrival  in  the  city.  It  was  in 
Broadway  that  he  saw  a  man  approaching  him  whom 
he  knew.  There  was  no  time  for  simulating  non-recog- 
nition. The  exchange  of  glances  had  been  too  sharp, the 
knowledge  of  each  other  too  apparent.  So  the  friend, 
a  buyer  for  one  of  the  Chicago  wholesale  houses,  felt, 
perforce,  the  necessity  of  stopping. 

"How  are  you?"  he  said,  extending  his  hand  with 
an  evident  mixture  of  feeling  and  a  lack  of  plausible 
interest. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Hurstwood,  equally  embarrassed. 
"  How  is  it  with  you  ?  " 

"  All  right ;  I'm  down  here  doing  a  little  buying.  Are 
you  located  here  now?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hurstwood,  "  I  have  a  place  down  in 
Warren  Street." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  the  friend.  "  Glad  to  hear  it.  I'll 
come  down  and  see  you." 

"  Do,"  said  Hurstwood. 


330  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  So  long,"  said  the  other,  smiling  affably  and  going 
on. 

"  He  never  asked  for  my  number,"  thought  Hurst- 
wood  ;  "  he  wouldn't  think  of  coming."  He  wiped  his 
forehead,  which  had  grown  damp,  and  hoped  sincerely 
he  would  meet  no  one  else. 

These  things  told  upon  his  good-nature,  such  as  it 
was.  His  one  hope  was  that  things  would  change  for 
the  better  in  a  money  way.  He  had  Carrie.  His  fur- 
niture was  being  paid  for.  He  was  maintaining  his 
position.  As  for  Carrie,  the  amusements  he  could  give 
her  would  have  to  do  for  the  present.  He  could  prob- 
ably keep  up  his  pretensions  sufficiently  long  without 
exposure  to  make  good,  and  then  all  would  be  well. 
He  failed  therein  to  take  account  of  the  frailties  of 
human  nature — the  difficulties  of  matrimonial  life. 
Carrie  was  young.  With  him  and  with  her  varying 
mental  states  were  common.  At  any  moment  the  ex- 
tremes of  feeling  might  be  anti-polarised  at  the  dinner 
table.  This  often  happens  in  the  best  regulated  fami- 
lies. Little  things  brought  out  on  such  occasions  need 
great  love  to  obliterate  them  afterward.  Where  that 
is  not,  both  parties  count  two  and  two  and  make  a  prob- 
lem after  a  while. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

A  PET  OF  GOOD   FORTUNE:   BROADWAY   FLAUNTS   ITS 
JOYS 

The  effect  of  the  city  and  his  own  situation  on  Hurst- 
wood  was  paralleled  in  the  case  of  Carrie,  who  accepted 
the  things  which  fortune  provided  with  the  most  genial 
good-nature.  New  York,  despite  her  first  expression 
of  disapproval,  soon  interested  her  exceedingly.  Its 
clear  atmosphere,  more  populous  thoroughfares,  and 
peculiar  indifference  struck  her  forcibly.  She  had 
never  seen  such  a  little  flat  as  hers,  and  yet  it  soon  en- 
listed her  affection.  The  new  furniture  made  an  ex- 
cellent showing,  the  sideboard  which  Hurstwood  him- 
self arranged  gleamed  brightly.  The  furniture  for 
each  room  was  appropriate,  and  in  the  so-called  parlour, 
or  front  room,  was  installed  a  piano,  because  Carrie 
said  she  would  like  to  learn  to  play.  She  kept  a  servant 
and  developed  rapidly  in  household  tactics  and  infor- 
mation. For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  settled, 
and  somewhat  justified  in  the  eyes  of  society  as  she 
conceived  of  it.  Her  thoughts  were  merry  and  inno- 
cent enough.  For  a  long  while  she  concerned  herself 
over  the  arrangement  of  New  York  flats,  and  wondered 
at  ten  families  living  in  one  building  and  all  remaining 
strange  and  indifferent  to  each  other.  She  also  mar- 
velled at  the  whistles  of  the  hundreds  of  vessels  in  the 
harbour — the  long,  low  cries  of  the  Sound  steamers  and 
ferry-boats  when  fog  was  on.  The  mere  fact  that  these 
things  spoke  from  the  sea  made  them  wonderful.     She 


332  SISTER  CARRIE 

looked  much  at  what  she  could  see  of  the  Hudson  from 
her  west  windows  and  of  the  great  city  building  up 
rapidly  on  either  hand.  It  was  much  to  ponder  over, 
and  sufficed  to  entertain  her  for  more  than  a  year  with- 
out becoming  stale. 

For  another  thing,  Hurstwood  was  exceedingly  in- 
teresting in  his  affection  for  her.  Troubled  as  he  was, 
he  never  exposed  his  difficulties  to  her.  He  carried 
himself  with  the  same  self-important  air,  took  his  new 
state  with  easy  familiarity,  and  rejoiced  in  Carrie's 
proclivities  and  successes.  Each  evening  he  arrived 
promptly  to  dinner,  and  found  the  little  dining-room  a 
most  inviting  spectacle.  In  a  way,  the  smallness  of 
the  room  added  to  its  luxury.  It  looked  full  and  re- 
plete. The  white-covered  table  was  arrayed  with  pretty 
dishes  and  lighted  with  a  four-armed  candelabra,  each 
light  of  which  was  topped  with  a  red  shade.  Between 
Carrie  and  the  girl  the  steaks  and  chops  came  out  all 
right,  and  canned  goods  did  the  rest  for  a  while.  Car- 
rie studied  the  art  of  making  biscuit,  and  soon  reached 
the  stage  where  she  could  show  a  plate  of  light,  pala- 
table morsels  for  her  labour. 

In  this  manner  the  second,  third,  and  fourth  months 
passed.  Winter  came,  and  with  it  a  feeling  that  in- 
doors was  best,  so  that  the  attending  of  theatres  was 
not  much  talked  of.  Hurstwood  made  great  efforts  to 
meet  all  expenditures  without  a  show  of  feeling  one 
way  or  the  other.  He  pretended  that  he  was  reinvest- 
ing his  money  in  strengthening  the  business  for  greater 
ends  in  the  future.  He  contented  himself  with  a  very 
moderate  allowance  of  personal  apparel,  and  rarely 
suggested  anything  for  Carrie.  Thus  the  first  winter 
passed. 

In  the  second  year,  the  business  which  Hurstwood 
managed  did  increase  somewhat.      He  got  out  of  it 


SISTER  CARRIE  333 

regularly  the  $150  per  month  which  he  had  anticipated. 
Unfortunately,  by  this  time  Carrie  had  reached  certain 
conclusions,  and  he  had  scraped  up  a  few  acquaint- 
ances. 

Being  of  a  passive  and  receptive  rather  than  an  active 
and  aggressive  nature,  Carrie  accepted  the  situation. 
Her  state  seemed  satisfactory  enough.  Once  in  a  while 
they  would  go  to.  a  theatre  together,  occasionally  in 
season  to  the  beaches  and  different  points  about  the 
city,  but  they  picked  up  no  acquaintances.  Hurstwood 
naturally  abandoned  his  show  of  fine  manners  with  her 
and  modified  his  attitude  to  one  of  easy  familiarity. 
There  were  no  misunderstandings,  no  apparent  differ- 
ences of  opinion.  In  fact,  without  money  or  visiting 
friends,  he  led  a  life  which  could  neither  arouse  jealousy 
nor  comment.  Carrie  rather  sympathised  with  his  ef- 
forts and  thought  nothing  upon  her  lack  of  entertain- 
ment such  as  she  had  enjoyed  in  Chicago.  New  York 
as  a  corporate  entity  and  her  flat  temporarily  seemed 
sufficient. 

However,  as  Hurstwood's  business  increased,  he,  as 
stated,  began  to  pick  up  acquaintances.  He  also  began 
to  allow  himself  more  clothes.  He  convinced  himself 
that  his  home  life  was  very  precious  to  him,  but  allowed 
that  he  could  occasionally  stay  away  from  dinner. 
The  first  time  he  did  this  he  sent  a  message  saying  that 
he  would  be  detained.  Carrie  ate  alone,  and  wished 
that  it  might  not  happen  again.  The  second  time,  also, 
he  sent  word,  but  at  the  last  moment.  The  third  time 
he  forgot  entirely  and  explained  afterwards.  These 
events  were  months  apart,  each. 

"  Where  were  you,  George?  "  asked  Carrie,  after  the 
first  absence. 

"  Tied  up  at  the  office,"  he  said  genially.  "  There 
were  some  accounts  I  had  to  straighten." 


334  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I'm  sorry  you  couldn't  get  home,"  she  said  kindly. 
"  I  was  fixing  to  have  such  a  nice  dinner." 

The  second  time  he  gave  a  similar  excuse,  but  the 
third  time  the  feeling  about  it  in  Carrie's  mind  was  a 
little  bit  out  of  the  ordinary. 

"  I  couldn't  get  home,"  he  said,  when  he  came  in  later 
in  the  evening,  "  I  was  so  busy." 

"  Couldn't  you  have  sent  me  word?  "  asked  Carrie. 

"  I  meant  to,"  he  said,  "  but  you  know  I  forgot  it 
until  it  was  too  late  to  do  any  good." 

"  And  I  had  such  a  good  dinner !  "  said  Carrie. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  from  his  observations  of 
Carrie  he  began  to  imagine  that  she  was  of  the  thor- 
oughly domestic  type  of  mind.  He  really  thought, 
after  a  year,  that  her  chief  expression  in  life  was  finding 
its  natural  channel  in  household  duties.  Notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  he  had  observed  her  act  in  Chi- 
cago, and  that  during  the  past  year  he  had  only  seen 
her  limited  in  her  relations  to  her  flat  and  him  by  con- 
ditions which  he  made,  and  that  she  had  not  gained  any 
friends  or  associates,  he  drew  this  peculiar  conclusion. 
With  it  came  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  in  having  a  wife 
who  could  thus  be  content,  and  this  satisfaction  worked 
its  natural  result.  That  is,  since  he  imagined  he  saw 
her  satisfied,  he  felt  called  upon  to  give  only  that  which 
contributed  to  such  satisfaction.  He  supplied  the  fur- 
niture, the  decorations,  the  food,  and  the  necessary 
clothing.  Thoughts  of  entertaining  her,  leading  her 
out  into  the  shine  and  show  of  life,  grew  less  and  less. 
He  felt  attracted  to  the  outer  world,  but  did  not  think 
she  would  care  to  go  along.  Once  he  went  to  the 
theatre  alone.  Another  time  he  joined  a  couple  of  his 
new  friends  at  an  evening  game  of  poker.  Since  his 
money-feathers  were  beginning  to  grow  again  he  felt 
like  sprucing  about.     All  this,  however,  in  a  much  less 


SISTER  CARRIE  335 

imposing  way  than  had  been  his  wont  in  Chicago.  He 
avoided  the  gay  places  where  he  would  be  apt  to  meet 
those  who  had  known  him. 

Now,  Carrie  began  to  feel  this  in  various  sensory 
ways.  She  was  not  the  kind  to  be  seriously  disturbed 
by  his  actions.  Not  loving  him  greatly,  she  could  not 
be  jealous  in  a  disturbing  way.  In  fact,  she  was  not 
jealous  at  all.  Hurstwood  was  pleased  with  her  placid 
manner,  when  he  should  have  duly  considered  it.  When 
he  did  not  come  home  it  did  not  seem  anything  like  a 
terrible  thing  to  her.  She  gave  him  credit  for  having 
the  usual  allurements  of  men — people  to  talk  to,  places 
to  stop,  friends  to  consult  with.  She  was  perfectly 
willing  that  he  should  enjoy  himself  in  his  way,  but  she 
did  not  care  to  be  neglected  herself.  Her  state  still 
seemed  fairly  reasonable,  however.  All  she  did  ob- 
serve was  that  Hurstwood  was  somewhat  different. 

Some  time  in  the  second  year  of  their  residence  in 
Seventy-eighth  Street  the  flat  across  the  hall  from  Car- 
rie became  vacant,  and  into  it  moved  a  very  handsome 
young  woman  and  her  husband,  with  both  of  whom 
Carrie  afterwards  became  acquainted.  This  was 
brought  about  solely  by  the  arrangement  of  the  flats, 
which  were  united  in  one  place,  as  it  were,  by  the  dumb- 
waiter. This  useful  elevator,  by  which  fuel,  groceries, 
and  the  like  were  sent  up  from  the  basement,  and  gar- 
bage and  waste  sent  down,  was  used  by  both  residents 
of  one  floor;  that  is,  a  small  door  opened  into  it  from 
each  flat. 

If  the  occupants  of  both  flats  answered  to  the  whistle 
of  the  janitor  at  the  same  time,  they  would  stand  face 
to  face  when  they  opened  the  dumb-waiter  doors.  One 
morning,  when  Carrie  went  to  remove  her  paper,  the 
newcomer,  a  handsome  brunette  of  perhaps  twenty- 
three  years  of  age,  was  there  for  a  like  purpose.     She 


336  SISTER  CARRIE 

was  in  a  night-robe  and  dressing-gown,  with  her  hair 
very  much  tousled,  but  she  looked  so  pretty  and  good- 
natured  that  Carrie  instantly  conceived  a  liking  for  her. 
The  newcomer  did  no  more  than  smile  shamefacedly, 
but  it  was  sufficient.  Carrie  felt  that  she  would  like  to 
know  her,  and  a  similar  feeling  stirred  in  the  mind  of 
the  other,  who  admired  Carrie's  innocent  face. 

"  That's  a  real  pretty  woman  who  has  moved  in  next 
door,"  said  Carrie  to  Hurstwood  at  the  breakfast  table. 

"Who  are  they?  "  asked  Hurstwood. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie.  "  The  name  on  the 
bell  is  Vance.  Some  one  over  there  plays  beautifully. 
I  guess  it  must  be  she." 

"  Well,  you  never  can  tell  what  sort  of  people  you're 
living  next  to  in  this  town,  can  you  ?  "  said  Hurstwood, 
expressing  the  customary  New  York  opinion  about 
neighbours. 

"  Just  think/'  said  Carrie,  "  I  have  been  in  this  house 
with  nine  other  families  for  over  a  year  and  I  don't 
know  a  soul.  These  people  have  been  here  over  a 
month  and  I  haven't  seen  any  one  before  this  morning." 

"  It's  just  as  well,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  You  never 
know  who  you're  going  to  get  in  with.  Some  of  these 
people  are  pretty  bad  company." 

"  I  expect  so,"  said  Carrie,  agreeably. 

The  conversation  turned  to  other  things,  and  Carrie 
thought  no  more  upon  the  subject  until  a  day  or  two 
later,  when,  going  out  to  market,  she  encountered  Mrs. 
Vance  coming  in.  The  latter  recognised  her  and 
nodded,  for  which  Carrie  returned  a  smile.  This  set- 
tled the  probability  of  acquaintanceship.  If  there  had 
been  no  faint  recognition  on  this  occasion,  there  would 
have  been  no  future  association. 

Carrie  saw  no  more  of  Mrs.  Vance  for  several  weeks, 
but  she  heard  her  play  through  the  thin  walls  which 


SISTER  CARRIE  337 

divided  the  front  rooms  of  the  flats,  and  was  pleased 
by  the  merry  selection  of  pieces  and  the  brilliance  of 
their  rendition.  She  could  play  only  moderately  her- 
self, and  such  variety  as  Mrs.  Vance  exercised  bor- 
dered, for  Carrie,  upon  the  verge  of  great  art.  Every- 
thing she  had  seen  and  heard  thus  far — the  merest 
scraps  and  shadows — indicated  that  these  people  were, 
in  a  measure,  refined  and  in  comfortable  circumstances. 
So  Carrie  was  ready  for  any  extension  of  the  friendship 
which  might  follow. 

One  day  Carrie's  bell  rang  and  the  servant,  who  was 
in  the  kitchen,  pressed  the  button  which  caused  the 
front  door  of  the  general  entrance  on  the  ground  floor 
to  be  electrically  unlatched.  When  Carrie  waited  at 
her  own  door  on  the  third  floor  to  see  who  it  might  be 
coming  up  to  call  on  her,  Mrs.  Vance  appeared. 

"  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,"  she  said.  "  I  went  out  a 
while  ago  and  forgot  my  outside  key,  so  I  thought  I'd 
ring  your  bell." 

This  was  a  common  trick  of  other  residents  of  the 
building,  whenever  they  had  forgotten  their  outside 
keys.     They  did  not  apologise  for  it,  however. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Carrie.  "  I'm  glad  you  did.  I  do 
the  same  thing  sometimes." 

"  Isn't  it  just  delightful  weather?  "  said  Mrs.  Vance, 
pausing  for  a  moment. 

Thus,  after  a  few  more  preliminaries,  this  visiting 
acquaintance  was  well  launched,  and  in  the  young  Mrs. 
Vance  Carrie  found  an  agreeable  companion. 

On  several  occasions  Carrie  visited  her  and  was 
visited.  Both  flats  were  good  to  look  upon,  though 
that  of  the  Vances  tended  somewhat  more  to  the  luxu- 
rious. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  over  this  evening  and  meet  my 
husband,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  not  long  after  their  in- 
22 


338  SISTER  CARRIE 

timacy  began.  "  He  wants  to  meet  you.  You  play 
cards,  don't  you?  " 

"  A  little,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  we'll  have  a  game  of  cards.  If  your  husband 
comes  home  bring  him  over." 

"  He's  not  coming  to  dinner  to-night,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  when  he  does  come  we'll  call  him  in." 

Carrie  acquiesced,  and  that  evening  met  the  portly 
Vance,  an  individual  a  few  years  younger  than  Hurst- 
wood,  and  who  owed  his  seemingly  comfortable  matri- 
monial state  much  more  to  his  money  than  to  his  good 
looks.  He  thought  well  of  Carrie  upon  the  first  glance 
and  laid  himself  out  to  be  genial,  teaching  her  a  new  game 
of  cards  and  talking  to  her  about  New  York  arid  its  pleas- 
ures. Mrs.  Vance  played  some  upon  the  piano,  and  at 
last  Hurstwood  came. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Vance 
when  Carrie  introduced  him,  showing  much  of  the  old 
grace  which  had  captivated  Carrie. 

"  Did  you  think  your  wife  had  run  away?  "  said  Mr. 
Vance,  extending  his  hand  upon  introduction. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  what  she  might  have  found  a  bet- 
ter husband,"  said  Hurstwood. 

He  now  turned  his  attention  to  Mrs.  Vance,  and  in 
a  flash  Carrie  saw  again  what  she  for  some  time  had 
sub-consciously  missed  in  Hurstwood — the  adroitness 
and  flattery  of  which  he  was  capable.  She  also  saw 
that  she  was  not  well  dressed — not  nearly  as  well 
dressed — as  Mrs.  Vance.  These  were  not  vague  ideas 
any  longer.  Her  situation  was  cleared  up  for  her.  She 
felt  that  her  life  was  becoming  stale,  and  therein  she 
felt  cause  for  gloom.  The  old  helpful,  urging  melan- 
choly was  restored.  The  desirous  Carrie  was  whis- 
pered to  concerning  her  possibilities. 

There  were  no  immediate  results  to  this  awakening, 


SISTER  CARRIE  339 

for  Carrie  had  little  power  of  initiative ;  but,  neverthe- 
less, she  seemed  ever  capable  of  getting  herself  into  the 
tide  of  change  where  she  would  be  easily  borne  along. 
Hurstwood  noticed  nothing.  He  had  been  unconscious 
of  the  marked  contrasts  which  Carrie  had  observed. 
He  did  not  even  detect  the  shade  of  melancholy  which 
settled  in  her  eyes.  Worst  of  all,  she  now  began  to 
feel  the  loneliness  of  the  flat  and  seek  the  company  of 
Mrs.  Vance,  who  liked  her  exceedingly. 

"  Let's  go  to  the  matinee  this  afternoon,"  said  Mrs. 
Vance,  who  had  stepped  across  into  Carrie's  flat  one 
morning,  still  arrayed  in  a  soft  pink  dressing-gown, 
which  she  had  donned  upon  rising.  Hurstwood  and 
Vance  had  gone  their  separate  ways  nearly  an  hour 
before. 

"  All  right,"  said  Carrie,  noticing  the  air  of  the  petted 
and  well-groomed  woman  in  Mrs.  Vance's  general  ap- 
pearance. She  looked  as  though  she  was  dearly  loved 
and  her  every  wish  gratified.     "  What  shall  we  see?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  want  to  see  Nat  Goodwin,"  said  Mrs. 
Vance.  "  I  do  think  he  is  the  jolliest  actor.  The 
papers  say  this  is  such  a  good  play." 

"  What  time  will  we  have  to  start?  "  asked  Carrie. 

"  Let's  go  at  one  and  walk  down  Broadway  from 
Thirty-fourth  Street,"  said  Mrs.  Vance.  "  It's  such 
an  interesting  walk.     He's  at  the  Madison  Square." 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  go,"  said  Carrie.  "  How  much  will 
we  have  to  pay  for  seats  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  a  dollar,"  said  Mrs.  Vance. 

The  latter  departed,  and  at  one  o'clock  reappeared, 
stunningly  arrayed  in  a  dark-blue  walking  dress,  with 
a  nobby  hat  to  match.  Carrie  had  gotten  herself  up 
charmingly  enough,  but  this  woman  pained  her  by  con- 
trast. She  seemed  to  have  so  many  dainty  little  things 
which  Carrie  had  not.     There  were  trinkets  of  gold,  an 


340  SISTER  CARRIE 

elegant  green  leather  purse  set  with  her  initials,  a  fancy- 
handkerchief,  exceedingly  rich  in  design,  and  the  like. 
Carrie  felt  that  she  needed  more  and  better  clothes  to 
compare  with  this  woman,  and  that  any  one  looking 
at  the  two  would  pick  Mrs.  Vance  for  her  raiment 
alone.  It  was  a  trying,  though  rather  unjust  thought, 
for  Carrie  had  now  developed  an  equally  pleasing 
figure,  and  had  grown  in  comeliness  until  she  was  a 
thoroughly  attractive  type  of  her  colour  of  beauty. 
There  was  some  difference  in  the  clothing  of  the  two, 
both  of  quality  and  age,  but  this  difference  was  not 
especially  noticeable.  It  served,  however,  to  augment 
Carrie's  dissatisfaction  with  her  state. 

The  walk  down  Broadway,  then  as  now,  was  one  of 
the  remarkable  features  of  the  city.  There  gathered, 
before  the  matinee  and  afterwards,  not  only  all  the 
pretty  women  who  love  a  showy  parade,  but  the  men 
who  love  to  gaze  upon  and  admire  them.  It  was  a  very 
imposing  procession  of  pretty  faces  and  fine  clothes. 
Women  appeared  in  their  very  best  hats,  shoes,  and 
gloves,  and  walked  arm  in  arm  on  their  way  to  the  fine 
shops  or  theatres  strung  along  from  Fourteenth  to 
Thirty-fourth  streets.  Equally  the  men  paraded  with 
the  very  latest  they  could  afford.  A  tailor  might  have 
secured  hints  on  suit  measurements,  a  shoemaker  on 
proper  lasts  and  colours,  a  hatter  on  hats.  It  was  liter- 
ally true  that  if  a  lover  of  fine  clothes  secured  a  new 
suit,  it  was  sure  to  have  its  first  airing  on  Broadway. 
So  true  and  well  understood  was  this  fact,  that  several 
years  later  a  popular  song,  detailing  this  and  other 
facts  concerning  the  afternoon  parade  on  matinee  days, 
and  entitled  "What  Right  Has  He  on  Broadway?  "  was 
published,  and  had  quite  a  vogue  about  the  music-halls 
of  the  city. 

In  all  her  stay  in  the  city,  Carrie  had  never  heard  of 


SISTER  CARRIE 


341 


this  showy  parade;  had  never  even  been  on  Broad- 
way when  it  was  taking  place.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
was  a  familiar  thing  to  Mrs.  Vance,  who  not  only  knew 
of  it  as  an  entity,  but  had  often  been  in  it,  going  pur- 
posely to  see  and  be  seen,  to  create  a  stir  with  her 
beauty  and  dispel  any  tendency  to  fall  short  in  dressi- 
ness by  contrasting  herself  with  the  beauty  and  fashion 
of  the  town. 

Carrie  stepped  along  easily  enough  after  they  got  out 
of  the  car  at  Thirty-fourth  Street,  but  soon  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  the  lovely  company  which  swarmed  by  and 
with  them  as  they  proceeded.  She  noticed  suddenly 
that  Mrs.  Vance's  manner  had  rather  stiffened  under 
the  gaze  of  handsome  men  and  elegantly  dressed  ladies, 
whose  glances  were  not  modified  by  any  rules  of  pro- 
priety. To  stare  seemed  the  proper  and  natural  thing. 
Carrie  found  herself  stared  at  and  ogled.  Men  in  flaw- 
less top-coats,  high  hats,  and  silver-headed  walking 
sticks  elbowed  near  and  looked  too  often  into  conscious 
e}res.  Ladies  rustled  by  in  dresses  of  stiff  cloth,  shed- 
ding affected  smiles  and  perfume.  Carrie  noticed 
among  them  the  sprinkling  of  goodness  and  the  heavy 
percentage  of  vice.  The  rouged  and  powdered  cheeks 
and  lips,  the  scented  hair,  the  large,  misty,  and  lan- 
guorous eye,  were  common  enough.  With  a  start  she 
awoke  to  find  that  she  was  in  fashion's  crowd,  on 
parade  in  a  show  place — and  such  a  show  place !  Jew- 
ellers' windows  gleamed  along  the  path  with  remark- 
able frequency.  Florist  shops,  furriers,  haberdashers, 
confectioners — all  followed  in  rapid  succession.  The 
street  was  full  of  coaches.  Pompous  doormen  in  im- 
mense coats,  shiny  brass  belts  and  buttons,  waited  in 
front  of  expensive  salesrooms.  Coachmen  in  tan  boots, 
white  tights,  and  blue  jackets  waited  obsequiously  for 
the  mistresses  of  carriages  who  were  shopping  inside. 


342 


SISTER  CARRIE 


The  whole  street  bore  the  flavour  of  riches  and  show, 
and  Carrie  felt  that  she  was  not  of  it.  She  could  not, 
for  the  life  of  her,  assume  the  attitude  and  smartness 
of  Mrs.  Vance,  who,  in  her  beauty,  was  all  assurance. 
She  could  only  imagine  that  it  must  be  evident  to  many 
that  she  was  the  less  handsomely  dressed  of  the  two. 
It  cut  her  to  the  quick,  and  she  resolved  that  she  would 
not  come  here  again  until  she  looked  better.  At  the 
same  time  she  longed  to  feel  the  delight  of  parading 
here  as  an  equal.     Ah,  then  she  would  be  happy ! 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE   FEAST   OF   BELSHAZZAR :   A   SEER   TO    TRANSLATE 

Such  feelings  as  were  generated  in  Carrie  by  this 
walk  put  her  in  an  exceedingly  receptive  mood  for  the 
pathos  which  followed  in  the  play.  The  actor  whom 
they  had  gone  to  see  had  achieved  his  popularity  by 
presenting  a  mellow  type  of  comedy,  in  which  sufficient 
sorrow  was  introduced  to  lend  contrast  and  relief  to 
humour.  For  Carrie,  as  we  well  know,  the  stage  had  a 
great  attraction.  She  had  never  forgotten  her  one  his- 
trionic achievement  in  Chicago.  It  dwelt  in  her  mind 
and  occupied  her  consciousness  during  many  long 
afternoons  in  which  her  rocking-chair  and  her  latest 
novel  contributed  the  only  pleasures  of  her  state. 
Never  could  she  witness  a  play  without  having  her 
own  ability  vividly  brought  to  consciousness.  Some 
scenes  made  her  long  to  be  a  part  of  them — to  give 
expression  to  the  feelings  which  she,  in  the  place  of 
the  character  represented,  would  feel.  Almost  invari- 
ably she  would  carry  the  vivid  imaginations  away  with 
her  and  brood  over  them  the  next  day  alone.  She  lived 
as  much  in  these  things  as  in  the  realities  which  made 
up  her  daily  life. 

It  was  not  often  that  she  came  to  the  play  stirred  to 
her  heart's  core  by  actualities.  To-day  a  low  song  of 
longing  had  been  set  singing  in  her  heart  by  the  finery, 
the  merriment,  the  beauty  she  had  seen.  Oh,  these 
women  who  had  passed  her  by,  hundreds  and  hundreds 
strong,  who  were  they?     Whence  came  the  rich,  ele- 


344  SISTER  CARRIE 

gant  dresses,  the  astonishingly  coloured  buttons,  the 
knick-knacks  of  silver  and  gold?  Where  were  these 
lovely  creatures  housed?  Amid  what  elegancies  of 
carved  furniture,  decorated  walls,  elaborate  tapestries 
did  they  move?  Where  were  their  rich  apartments, 
loaded  with  all  that  money  could  provide?  In  what 
stables  champed  these  sleek,  nervous  horses  and  rested 
the  gorgeous  carriages  ?  Where  lounged  the  richly 
groomed  footmen?  Oh,  the  mansions,  the  lights,  the 
perfume,  the  loaded  boudoirs  and  tables!  New  York 
must  be  filled  with  such  bowers,  or  the  beautiful,  inso- 
lent, supercilious  creatures  could  not  be.  Some  hot- 
houses held  them.  It  ached  her  to  know  that  she  was 
not  one  of  them — that,  alas,  she  had  dreamed  a  dream 
and  it  had  not  come  true.  She  wondered  at  her  own 
solitude  these  two  years  past — her  indifference  to  the 
fact  that  she  had  never  achieved  what  she  had  expected. 
The  play  was  one  of  those  drawing-room  concoctions 
in  which  charmingly  overdressed  ladies  and  gentlemen 
suffer  the  pangs  of  love  and  jealousy  amid  gilded  sur- 
roundings. Such  bon-mots  are  ever  enticing  to  those 
who  have  all  their  days  longed  for  such  material  sur- 
roundings and  have  never  had  them  gratified.  They 
have  the  charm  of  showing  suffering  under  ideal  con- 
ditions. Who  would  not  grieve  upon  a  gilded  chair? 
Who  would  not  suffer  amid  perfumed  tapestries, 
cushioned  furniture,  and  liveried  servants?  Grief 
under  such  circumstances  becomes  an  enticing  thing. 
Carrie  longed  to  be  of  it.  She  wanted  to  take  her  suf- 
ferings, whatever  they  were,  in  such  a  world,  or  failing 
that,  at  least  to  simulate  them  under  such  charming 
conditions  upon  the  stage.  So  affected  was  her  mind 
by  what  she  had  seen,  that  the  play  now  seemed  an 
extraordinarily  beautiful  thing.  She  was  soon  lost  in 
the  world  it  represented,  and  wished  that  she  might 


SISTER  CARRIE  345 

never  return.  Between  the  acts  she  studied  the  galaxy 
of  matinee  attendants  in  front  rows  and  boxes,  and 
conceived  a  new  idea  of  the  possibilities  of  New  York. 
She  was  sure  she  had  not  seen  it  all — that  the  city  was 
one  whirl  of  pleasure  and  delight. 

Going  out,  the  same  Broadway  taught  her  a  sharper 
lesson.  The  scene  she  had  witnessed  coming  down 
was  now  augmented  and  at  its  height.  Such  a  crush 
of  finery  and  folly  she  had  never  seen.  It  clinched  her 
convictions  concerning  her  state.  She  had  not  lived, 
could  not  lay  claim  to  having  lived,  until  something  of 
this  had  come  into  her  own  life.  Women  were  spend- 
ing money  like  water;  she  could  see  that  in  every  ele- 
gant shop  she  passed.  Flowers,  candy,  jewelry,  seemed 
the  principal  things  in  which  the  elegant  dames  were 
interested.  And  she — she  had  scarcely  enough  pin 
money  to  indulge  in  such  outings  as  this  a  few  times 
a  month. 

That  night  the  pretty  little  flat  seemed  a  common- 
place thing.  It  was  not  what  the  rest  of  the  world  was 
enjoying.  She  saw  the  servant  working  at  dinner  with 
an  indifferent  eye.  In  her  mind  were  running  scenes 
of  the  play.  Particularly  she  remembered  one  beauti- 
ful actress — the  sweetheart  who  had  been  wooed  and 
won.  The  grace  of  this  woman  had  won  Carrie's  heart. 
Her  dresses  had  been  all  that  art  could  suggest,  her 
sufferings  had  been  so  real.  The  anguish  which  she 
had  portrayed  Carrie  could  feel.  It  was  done  as  she 
was  sure  she  could  do  it.  There  were  places  in  which 
she  could  even  do  better.  Hence  she  repeated  the  lines 
to  herself.  Oh,  if  she  could  only  have  such  a  part,  how 
broad  would  be  her  life !  She,  too,  could  act  appeal- 
ingly. 

When  Hurstwood  came,  Carrie  was  moody.  She 
was  sitting,  rocking  and  thinking,  and  did  not  care  to 


346  SISTER  CARRIE 

have  her  enticing  imaginations  broken  in  upon;  so 
she  said  little  or  nothing. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Carrie  ?  "  said  Hurstwood  after 
a  time,  noticing  her  quiet,  almost  moody  state. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  don't  feel  very  well  to- 
night." 

"Not  sick,  are  you?"  he  asked,  approaching  very 
close. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  almost  pettishly,  "  I  just  don't 
feel  very  good." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  he  said,  stepping  away  and  adjust- 
ing his  vest  after  his  slignt  bending  over.  "  I  was 
thinking  we  might  go  to  a  show  to-night." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go,"  said  Carrie,  annoyed  that  her 
fine  visions  should  have  thus  been  broken  into  and 
driven  out  of  her  mind.  "  I've  been  to  the  matinee  this 
afternoon." 

"Oh,  you  have?"  said  Hurstwood.  "What  was 
it?" 

"  A  Gold  Mine." 

"How  was  it?" 

"  Pretty  good,"  said  Carrie. 

"  And  you  don't  want  to  go  again  to-night?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  do,"  she  said. 

Nevertheless,  wakened  out  of  her  melancholia  and 
called  to  the  dinner  table,  she  changed  her  mind.  A 
little  food  in  the  stomach  does  wonders.  She  went 
again,  and  in  so  doing  temporarily  recovered  her  equa- 
nimity. The  great  awakening  blow  had,  however,  been 
delivered.  As  often  as  she  might  recover  from  these 
discontented  thoughts  now,  they  would  occur  again. 
Time  and  repetition — ah,  the  wonder  of  it!  The 
dropping  water  and  the  solid  stone — how  utterly  it  yields 
at  last ! 

Not  long  after  this  matinee  experience — perhaps  a 


SISTER  CARRIE  347 

month — Mrs.  Vance  invited  Carrie  to  an  evening  at  the 
theatre  with  them.  She  heard  Carrie  say  that  Hurst- 
wood  was  not  coming  home  to  dinner. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  with  us  ?  Don't  get  dinner 
for  yourself.  We're  going  down  to  Sherry's  for  din- 
ner and  then  over  to  the  Lyceum.    Come  along  with  us." 

"  I  think  I  will,"  answered  Carrie. 

She  began  to  dress  at  three  o'clock  for  her  departure 
at  half-past  five  for  the  noted  dining-room  which  was 
then  crowding  Delmonico's  for  position  in  society.  In 
this  dressing  Carrie  showed  the  influence  of  her  asso- 
ciation with  the  dashing  Mrs.  Vance.  She  had  con- 
stantly had  her  attention  called  by  the  latter  to  novel- 
ties in  everything  which  pertains  to  a  woman's  apparel. 

"  Are  you  going  to  get  such  and  such  a  hat  ?  "  or, 
"  Have  you  seen  the  new  gloves  with  the  oval  pearl 
buttons  ? "  were  but  sample  phrases  out  of  a  large 
selection. 

"  The  next  time  you  get  a  pair  of  shoes,  dearie,"  said 
Mrs.  Vance,  "  get  button,  with  thick  soles  and  patent- 
leather  tips.     They're  all  the  rage  this  fall." 

"  I  will,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  dear,  have  you  seen  the  new  shirtwaists  at  Alt- 
man's?  They  have  some  of  the  loveliest  patterns.  I 
saw  one  there  that  I  know  would  look  stunning  on  you. 
I  said  so  when  I  saw  it." 

Carrie  listened  to  these  things  with  considerable  in- 
terest, for  they  were  suggested  with  more  of  friendli- 
ness than  is  usually  common  between  pretty  women. 
Mrs.  Vance  liked  Carrie's  stable  good-nature  so  well 
that  she  really  took  pleasure  in  suggesting  to  her  the 
latest  things. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  yourself  one  of  those  nice  serge 
skirts  they're  selling  at  Lord  &  Taylor's?  "  she  said  one 
day.     "  They're  the  circular  st)de,  and  they're  going  to 


348  SISTER  CARRIE 

be  worn  from  now  on.  A  dark  blue  one  would  look  so 
nice  on  you." 

Carrie  listened  with  eager  ears.  These  things  never 
came  up  between  her  and  Hurstwood.  Nevertheless, 
she  began  to  suggest  one  thing  and  another,  which 
Hurstwood  agreed  to  without  any  expression  of 
opinion.  He  noticed  the  new  tendency  on  Carrie's 
part,  and  finally,  hearing  much  of  Mrs.  Vance  and  her 
delightful  ways,  suspected  whence  the  change  came. 
He  was  not  inclined  to  offer  the  slightest  objection  so 
soon,  but  he  felt  that  Carrie's  wants  were  expanding. 
This  did  not  appeal  to  him  exactly,  but  he  cared  for  her 
in  his  own  way,  and  so  the  thing  stood.  Still,  there 
was  something  in  the  details  of  the  transactions  which 
caused  Carrie  to  feel  that  her  requests  were  not  a  de- 
light to  him.  He  did  not  enthuse  over  the  purchases. 
This  led  her  to  believe  that  neglect  was  creeping  in, 
and  so  another  small  wedge  was  entered. 

Nevertheless,  one  of  the  results  of  Mrs.  Vance's  sug- 
gestions was  the  fact  that  on  this  occasion  Carrie  was 
dressed  somewhat  to  her  own  satisfaction.  She  had 
on  her  best,  but  there  was  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
if  she  must  confine  herself  to  a  best,  it  was  neat  and  fit- 
ting. She  looked  the  well-groomed  woman  of  twenty- 
one,  and  Mrs.  Vance  praised  her,  which  brought  colour 
to  her  plump  cheeks  and  a  noticeable  brightness  into 
her  large  eyes.  It  was  threatening  rain,  and  Mr.  Vance, 
at  his  wife's  request,  had  called  a  coach. 

"Your  husband  isn't  coming?"  suggested  Mr.  Vance, 
as  he  met  Carrie  in  his  little  parlour. 

"  No ;  he  said  he  wouldn't  be  home  for  dinner." 

"  Better  leave  a  little  note  for  him,  telling  him  where 
we  are.     He  might  turn  up." 

"  I  will,"  said  Carrie,  who  had  not  thought  of  it 
before. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


349 


"  Tell  him  we'll  be  at  Sherry's  until  eight  o'clock. 
He  knows,  though,  I  guess." 

Carrie  crossed  the  hall  with  rustling  skirts,  and 
scrawled  the  note,  gloves  on.  When  she  returned  a 
newcomer  was  in  the  Vance  flat. 

"  Mrs.  Wheeler,  let  me  introduce  Mr.  Ames,  a  cousin 
of  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Vance.  "  He's  going  along  with 
us,  aren't  you,  Bob  ?  " 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Ames,  bowing 
politely  to  Carrie. 

The  latter  caught  in  a  glance  the  dimensions  of  a 
very  stalwart  figure.  She  also  noticed  that  he  was 
smooth-shaven,  good  looking,  and  young,  but  nothing 
more. 

"  Mr.  Ames  is  just  down  in  New  York  for  a  few 
days,"  put  in  Vance,  "  and  we're  trying  to  show  him 
around  a  little." 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?  "  said  Carrie,  taking  another  glance 
at  the  newcomer. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  just  on  here  from  Indianapolis  for  a  week 
or  so,"  said  young  Ames,  seating  himself  on  the  edge 
of  a  chair  to  wait  while  Mrs.  Vance  completed  the  last 
touches  of  her  toilet. 

"  I  guess  you  find  New  York  quite  a  thing  to  see, 
don't  you?  "  said  Carrie,  venturing  something  to  avoid 
a  possible  deadly  silence. 

"  It  is  rather  large  to  get  around  in  a  week,"  answered 
Ames,  pleasantly. 

He  was  an  exceedingly  genial  soul,  this  young  man, 
and  wholly  free  of  affectation.  It  seemed  to  Carrie  he 
was  as  yet  only  overcoming  the  last  traces  of  the  bash- 
fulness  of  youth.  He  did  not  seem  apt  at  conversation, 
but  he  had  the  merit  of  being  well  dressed  and  wholly 
courageous.  Carrie  felt  as  if  it  were  not  going  to  be 
hard  to  talk  to  him. 


35o 


SISTER  CARRIE 


"  Well,  I  guess  we're  ready  now.  The  coach  is  out- 
side." 

"  Come  on,  people,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  coming  in  smil- 
ing.    "  Bob,  you'll  have  to  look  after  Mrs.  Wheeler." 

"  I'll  try  to,"  said  Bob  smiling,  and  edging  closer  to 
Carrie.  "  You  won't  need  much  watching,  will  you?  " 
he  volunteered,  in  a  sort  of  ingratiating  and  help-me- 
out  kind  of  way. 

"  Not  very,  I  hope,"  said  Carrie. 

They  descended  the  stairs,  Mrs.  Vance  offering  sug- 
gestions, and  climbed  into  the  open  coach. 

"  All  right,"  said  Vance,  slamming  the  coach  door, 
and  the  conveyance  rolled  away. 

"  What  is  it  we're  going  to  see?  "  asked  Ames. 

"  Sothern,"  said  Vance,  "  in  '  Lord  Chumley.'  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  so  good !  "  said  Mrs.  Vance.  "  He's  just 
the  funniest  man." 

"  I  notice  the  papers  praise  it,"  said  Ames. 

"  I  haven't  any  doubt,"  put  in  Vance,  "  but  we'll  all 
enjoy  it  very  much." 

Ames  had  taken  a  seat  beside  Carrie,  and  accordingly 
he  felt  it  his  bounden  duty  to  pay  her  some  attention. 
He  was  interested  to  find  her  so  young  a  wife,  and  so 
pretty,  though  it  was  only  a  respectful  interest.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  dashing  lady's  man  about  him.  He 
had  respect  for  the  married  state,  and  thought  only  of 
some  pretty  marriageable  girls  in  Indianapolis. 

"Are  you  a  born  New  Yorker?"  asked  Ames  of 
Carrie. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I've  only  been  here  for  two  years." 

"  Oh,  well,  you've  had  time  to  see  a  great  deal  of  it, 
anyhow." 

"  I  don't  seem  to  have,"  answered  Carrie.  "  It's 
about  as  strange  to  me  as  when  I  first  came  here." 

"  You're  not  from  the  West,  are  you  ?  " 


SISTER  CARRIE  35 1 

"  Yes.     I'm  from  Wisconsin,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  it  does  seem  as  if  most  people  in  this  town 
haven't  been  here  so  very  long.  I  hear  of  lots  of  In- 
diana people  in  my  line  who  are  here." 

"What  is  your  line?"  asked  Carrie. 

"  I'm  connected  with  an  electrical  company,"  said 
the  youth. 

Carrie  followed  up  this  desultory  conversation  with 
occasional  interruptions  from  the  Vances.  Several 
times  it  became  general  and  partially  humorous,  and  in 
that  manner  the  restaurant  was  reached. 

Carrie  had  noticed  the  appearance  of  gayety  and  pleas- 
ure-seeking in  the  streets  which  they  were  following. 
Coaches  were  numerous,  pedestrians  many,  and  in 
Fifty-ninth  Street  the  street  cars  were  crowded.  At 
Fifty-ninth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue  a  blaze  of  lights 
from  several  new  hotels  which  bordered  the  Plaza 
Square  gave  a  suggestion  of  sumptuous  hotel  life. 
Fifth  Avenue,  the  home  of  the  wealthy,  was  noticeably 
crowded  with  carriages,  and  gentlemen  in  evening 
dress.  At  Sherry's  an  imposing  doorman  opened  the 
coach  door  and  helped  them  out.  Young  Ames  held 
Carrie's  elbow  as  he  helped  her  up  the  steps.  They 
entered  the  lobby  already  swarming  with  patrons,  and 
then,  after  divesting  themselves  of  their  wraps,  went 
into  a  sumptuous  dining-room. 

In  all  Carrie's  experience  she  had  never  seen  any- 
thing like  this.  In  the  whole  time  she  had  been  in  New 
York  Hurstwood's  modified  state  had  not  permitted 
his  bringing  her  to  such  a  place.  There  was  an  almost 
indescribable  atmosphere  about  it  which  convinced  the 
newcomer  that  this  was  the  proper  thing.  Here  was 
the  place  where  the  matter  of  expense  limited  the  pa- 
trons to  the  moneyed  or  pleasure-loving  class.  Carrie 
had  read  of  it  often  in  the  "  Morning  "  and  "  Evening 


352  SISTER  CARRIE 

World."  She  had  seen  notices  of  dances,  parties,  balls, 
and  suppers  at  Sherry's.  The  Misses  So-and-so  would 
give  a  party  on  Wednesday  evening  at  Sherry's. 
Young  Mr.  So-and-so  would  entertain  a  party  of  friends 
at  a  private  luncheon  on  the  sixteenth,  at  Sherry's. 
The  common  run  of  conventional,  perfunctory  notices 
of  the  doings  of  society,  which  she  could  scarcely  re- 
frain from  scanning  each  day,  had  given  her  a  distinct 
idea  of  the  gorgeousness  and  luxury  of  this  wonderful 
temple  of  gastronomy.  Now,  at  last,  she  was  really  in 
it.  She  had  come  up  the  imposing  steps,  guarded  by 
the  large  and  portly  doorman.  She  had  seen  the  lobby, 
guarded  by  another  large  and  portly  gentleman,  and 
been  waited  upon  by  uniformed  youths  who  took  care 
of  canes,  overcoats,  and  the  like.  Here  was  the  splendid 
dining-chamber,  all  decorated  and  aglow,  where  the 
wealthy  ate.  Ah,  how  fortunate  was  Mrs.  Vance; 
young,  beautiful,  and  well  off — at  least,  sufficiently  so 
to  come  here  in  a  coach.  What  a  wonderful  thing  it 
was  to  be  rich. 

Vance  led  the  way  through  lanes  of  shining  tables, 
at  which  were  seated  parties  of  two,  three,  four,  five, 
or  six.  The  air  of  assurance  and  dignity  about  it  all 
was  exceedingly  noticeable  to  the  novitiate.  Incan- 
descent lights,  the  reflection  of  their  glow  in  polished 
glasses,  and  the  shine  of  gilt  upon  the  walls,  combined 
into  one  tone  of  light  which  it  requires  minutes  of 
complacent  observation  to  separate  and  take  particular 
note  of.  The  white  shirt  fronts  of  the  gentlemen,  the 
bright  costumes  of  the  ladies,  diamonds,  jewels,  fine 
feathers — all  were  exceedingly  noticeable. 

Carrie  walked  with  an  air  equal  to  that  of  Mrs.  Vance, 
and  accepted  the  seat  which  the  head  waiter  provided 
for  her.  She  was  keenly  aware  of  all  the  little  things 
that  were  done — the  little  genuflections  and  attentions 


SISTER  CARRIE  353 

of  the  waiters  and  head  waiter  which  Americans  pay 
for.  The  air  with  which  the  latter  pulled  out  each 
chair,  and  the  wave  of  the  hand  with  which  he  mo- 
tioned them  to  be  seated,  were  worth  several  dollars 
in  themselves. 

Once  seated,  there  began  that  exhibition  of  showy, 
wasteful,  and  unwholesome  gastronomy  as  practised 
by  wealthy  Americans,  which  is  the  wonder  and  aston- 
ishment of  true  culture  and  dignity  the  world  over. 
The  large  bill  of  fare  held  an  array  of  dishes  sufficient 
to  feed  an  army,  sidelined  with  prices  which  made  rea- 
sonable expenditure  a  ridiculous  impossibility — an 
order  of  soup  at  fifty  cents  or  a  dollar,  with  a  dozen 
kinds  to  choose  from ;  oysters  in  forty  styles  and  at 
sixty  cents  the  half-dozen ;  entrees,  fish,  and  meats 
at  prices  which  would  house  one  over  night  in  an  aver- 
age hotel.  One  dollar  fifty  and  two  dollars  seemed 
to  be  the  most  common  figures  upon  this  most  taste- 
fully printed  bill  of  fare. 

Carrie  noticed  this,  and  in  scanning  it  the  price  of 
spring  chicken  carried  her  back  to  that  other  bill  of 
fare  and  far  different  occasion  when,  for  the  first  time, 
she  sat  with  Drouet  in  a  good  restaurant  in  Chicago. 
It  was  only  momentary — a  sad  note  as  out  of  an  old 
song — and  then  it  was  gone.  But  in  that  flash  was 
seen  the  other  Carrie — poor,  hungry,  drifting  at  her 
wits'  ends,  and  all  Chicago  a  cold  and  closed  world, 
from  which  she  only  wandered  because  she  could  not 
find  work. 

On  the  walls  were  designs  in  colour,  square  spots 
of  robin's-egg  blue,  set  in  ornate  frames  of  gilt,  whose 
corners  were  elaborate  mouldings  of  fruit  and  flowers, 
with  fat  cupids  hovering  in  angelic  comfort.  On  the 
ceilings  were  coloured  traceries  with  more  gilt,  lead- 
ing to  a  centre  where  spread  a  cluster  of  lights — in- 
23 


354  SISTER  CARRIE 

candescent  globes  mingled  with  glittering  prisms  and 
stucco  tendrils  of  gilt.  The  floor  was  of  a  reddish  hue, 
waxed  and  polished,  and  in  every  direction  were  mir- 
rors— tall,  brilliant,  bevel-edged  mirrors — reflecting  and 
re-reflecting  forms,  faces,  and  candelabra  a  score  and  a 
hundred  times. 

The  tables  were  not  so  remarkable  in  themselves,  and 
yet  the  imprint  of  Sherry  upon  the  napery,  the  name  of 
Tiffany  upon  the  silverware,  the  name  of  Haviland 
upon  the  china,  and  over  all  the  glow  of  the  small,  red- 
shaded  candelabra  and  the  reflected  tints  of  the  walls 
on  garments  and  faces,  made  them  seem  remarkable. 
Each  waiter  added  an  air  of  exclusiveness  and  elegance 
by  the  manner  in  which  he  bowed,  scraped,  touched, 
and  trifled  with  things.  The  exclusively  personal  at- 
tention which  he  devoted  to  each  one,  standing  half  bent, 
ear  to  one  side,  elbows  akimbo,  saying :  "  Soup — green 
turtle,  yes.  One  portion,  yes.  Oysters — certainly — 
half-dozen — yes.     Asparagus.     Olives — yes." 

It  would  be  the  same  with  each  one,  only  Vance  es- 
sayed to  order  for  all,  inviting  counsel  and  suggestions. 
Carrie  studied  the  company  with  open  eyes.  So  this 
was  high  life  in  New  York.  It  was  so  that  the  rich 
spent  their  days  and  evenings.  Her  poor  little  mind 
could  not  rise  above  applying  each  scene  to  all  society. 
Every  fine  lady  must  be  in  the  crowd  on  Broadway  in 
the  afternoon,  in  the  theatre  at  the  matinee,  in  the 
coaches  and  dining-halls  at  night.  It  must  be  glow 
and  shine  everywhere,  with  coaches  waiting,  and  foot- 
men attending,  and  she  was  out  of  it  all.  In  two  long 
years  she  had  never  even  been  in  such  a  place  as 
this. 

Vance  was  in  his  element  here,  as  Hurstwood  would 
have  been  in  former  days.  He  ordered  freely  of  soup, 
oysters,  roast  meats,  and  side  dishes,  and  had  several 


SISTER  CARRIE  355 

bottles  of  wine  brought,  which  were  set  down  beside 
the  table  in  a  wicker  basket. 

Ames  was  looking  away  rather  abstractedly  at  the 
crowd  and  showed  an  interesting  profile  to  Carrie.  His 
forehead  was  high,  his  nose  rather  large  and  strong,  his 
chin  moderately  pleasing.  He  had  a  good,  wide,  well- 
shaped  mouth,  and  his  dark-brown  hair  was  parted 
slightly  on  one  side.  He  seemed  to  have  the  least 
touch  of  boyishness  to  Carrie,  and  yet  he  was  a  man 
full  grown. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  turning  back  to  Carrie, 
after  his  reflection,  "  I  sometimes  think  it  is  a 
shame  for  people  to  spend  so  much  money  this 
way." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  the  faintest 
touch  of  surprise  at  his  seriousness.  He  seemed  to  be 
thinking  about  something  over  which  she  had  never 
pondered. 

"  Do  you?"  she  answered,  interestedly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  they  pay  so  much  more  than  these 
things  are  worth.     They  put  on  so  much  show." 

"  I  don't  know  why  people  shouldn't  spend  when 
they  have  it,"  said  Mrs.  Vance. 

"  It  doesn't  do  any  harm,"  said  Vance,  who  was  still 
studying  the  bill  of  fare,  though  he  had  ordered. 

Ames  was  looking  away  again,  and  Carrie  was  again 
looking  at  his  forehead.  To  her  he  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing about  strange  things.  As  he  studied  the  crowd  his 
eye  was  mild. 

"  Look  at  that  woman's  dress  over  there,"  he 
said,  again  turning  to  Carrie,  and  nodding  in  a  di- 
rection. 

"  Where?  "  said  Carrie,  following  his  eyes. 

"  Over  there  in  the  corner — way  over.  Do  you  see 
that  brooch  ?  " 


356  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Isn't  it  large?"  said  Carrie. 

"  One  of  the  largest  clusters  of  jewels  I  have  ever 
seen,"  said  Ames. 

"  It  is,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Carrie.  She  felt  as  if  she  would 
like  to  be  agreeable  to  this  young  man,  and  also  there 
came  with  it,  or  perhaps  preceded  it,  the  slightest  shade 
of  a  feeling  that  he  was  better  educated  than  she  was — 
that  his  mind  was  better.  He  seemed  to  look  it,  and 
the  saving  grace  in  Carrie  was  that  she  could  under- 
stand that  people  could  be  wiser.  She  had  seen  a  num- 
ber of  people  in  her  life  who  reminded  her  of  what  she 
had  vaguely  come  to  think  of  as  scholars.  This  strong 
young  man  beside  her,  with  his  clear,  natural  look, 
seemed  to  get  a  hold  of  things  which  she  did  not  quite 
understand,  but  approved  of.  It  was  fine  to  be  so,  as 
a  man,  she  thought. 

The  conversation  changed  to  a  book  that  was  having 
its  vogue  at  the  time — "  Moulding  a  Maiden,"  by  Albert 
Ross.  Mrs.  Vance  had  read  it.  Vance  had  seen  it  dis- 
cussed in  some  of  the  papers. 

"  A  man  can  make  quite  a  strike  writing  a  book,"  said 
Vance.  "  I  notice  this  fellow  Ross  is  very  much  talked 
about."     He  was  looking  at  Carrie  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  hadn't  heard  of  him,"  said  Carrie,  honestly. 

"  Oh,  I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Vance.  "  He's  written  lots 
of  things.    This  last  story  is  pretty  good." 

"  He  doesn't  amount  to  much,"  said  Ames. 

Carrie  turned  her  eyes  toward  him  as  to  an  oracle. 

"  His  stuff  is  nearly  as  bad  as  '  Dora  Thorne,'  "  con- 
cluded Ames. 

Carrie  felt  this  as  a  personal  reproof.  She  read  "  Dora 
Thorne,"  or  had  a  great  deal  in  the  past.  It  seemed  only 
fair  to  her,  but  she  supposed  that  people  thought  it  very 
fine.  Now  this  clear-eyed,  fine-headed  youth,  who 
looked  something  like  a  student  to  her,  made  fun  of  it. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


357 


It  was  poor  to  him,  not  worth  reading.  She  looked 
down,  and  for  the  first  time  felt  the  pain  of  not  under- 
standing. 

Yet  there  was  nothing  sarcastic  or  supercilious  in  the 
way  Ames  spoke.  He  had  very  little  of  that  in  him. 
Carrie  felt  that  it  was  just  kindly  thought  of  a  high 
order — the  right  thing  to  think,  and  wondered  what 
else  was  right,  according  to  him.  He  seemed  to  notice 
that  she  listened  and  rather  sympathised  with  him,  and 
from  now  on  he  talked  mostly  to  her. 

As  the  waiter  bowed  and  scraped  about,  felt  the 
dishes  to  see  if  they  were  hot  enough,  brought  spoons 
and  forks,  and  did  all  those  little  attentive  things  cal- 
culated to  impress  the  luxury  of  the  situation  upon  the 
diner,  Ames  also  leaned  slightly  to  one  side  and  told  her 
of  Indianapolis  in  an  intelligent  way.  He  really  had  a 
very  bright  mind,  which  was  finding  its  chief  develop- 
ment in  electrical  knowledge.  His  sympathies  for  other 
forms  of  information,  however,  and  for  types  of  people, 
were  quick  and  warm.  The  red  glow  on  his  head  gave 
it  a  sandy  tinge  and  put  a  bright  glint  in  his  eye.  Car- 
rie noticed  all  these  things  as  he  leaned  toward  her 
and  felt  exceedingly  young.  This  man  was  far  ahead 
of  her.  He  seemed  wiser  than  Hurstwood,  saner  and 
brighter  than  Drouet.  He  seemed  innocent  and  clean, 
and  she  thought  that  he  was  exceedingly  pleasant.  She 
noticed,  also,  that  his  interest  in  her  was  a  far-off  one. 
She  was  not  in  his  life,  nor  any  of  the  things  that 
touched  his  life,  and  yet  now,  as  he  spoke  of  these 
things,  they  appealed  to  her. 

"  I  shouldn't  care  to  be  rich,"  he  told  her,  as  the  din- 
ner proceeded  and  the  supply  of  food  warmed  up  his 
sympathies ;  "  not  rich  enough  to  spend  my  money  this 
way." 

"Oh,  wouldn't  you?"  said  Carrie,  the,  to  her,  new 


358  SISTER  CARRIE 

attitude  forcing  itself  distinctly  upon  her  for  the  first 
time. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  What  good  would  it  do?  A  man 
doesn't  need  this  sort  of  thing  to  be  happy." 

Carrie  thought  of  this  doubtfully ;  but,  coming  from 
him,  it  had  weight  with  her. 

"  He  probably  could  be  happy,"  she  thought  to  her- 
self, "  all  alone.     He's  so  strong." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vance  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  inter- 
ruptions, and  these  impressive  things  by  Ames  came  at 
odd  moments.  They  were  sufficient,  however,  for  the 
atmosphere  that  went  with  this  youth  impressed  itself 
upon  Carrie  without  words.  There  was  something  in 
him,  or  the  world  he  moved  in,  which  appealed  to  her. 
He  reminded  her  of  scenes  she  had  seen  on  the  stage — 
the  sorrows  and  sacrifices  that  always  went  with  she 
knew  not  what.  He  had  taken  away  some  of  the  bit- 
terness of  the  contrast  between  this  life  and  her  life, 
and  all  by  a  certain  calm  indifference  which  concerned 
only  him. 

As  they  went  out,  he  took  her  arm  and  helped  her 
into  the  coach,  and  then  they  were  off  again,  and  so  to 
the  show. 

During  the  acts  Carrie  found  herself  listening  to  him 
very  attentively.  He  mentioned  things  in  the  play 
which  she  most  approved  of — things  which  swayed  her 
deeply. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  rather  fine  to  be  an  actor?  "  she 
asked  once. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  said,  "  to  be  a  good  one.  I  think  the 
theatre  a  great  thing." 

Just  this  little  approval  set  Carrie's  heart  bounding. 
Ah,  if  she  could  only  be  an  actress — a  good  one !  This 
man  was  wise — he  knew — and  he  approved  of  it.  If 
she  were  a  fine  actress,  such  men  as  he  would  approve 


SISTER  CARRIE  359 

of  her.  She  felt  that  he  was  good  to  speak  as  he  had, 
although  it  did  not  concern  her  at  all.  She  did  not 
know  why  she  felt  this  way. 

At  the  close  of  the  show  it  suddenly  developed  that 
he  was  not  going  back  with  them. 

"  Oh,  aren't  you  ?  "  said  Carrie,  with  an  unwarrant- 
able feeling. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  stopping  right  around  here 
in  'Thirty-third  Street." 

Carrie  could  not  say  anything  else,  but  somehow  this 
development  shocked  her.  She  had  been  regretting  the 
wane  of  a  pleasant  evening,  but  she  had  thought  there 
was  a  half-hour  more.  Oh,  the  half-hours,  the  minutes 
of  the  world ;  what  miseries  and  griefs  are  crowded  into 
them! 

She  said  good-bye  with  feigned  indifference.  What 
matter  could  it  make?     Still,  the  coach  seemed  lorn. 

When  she  went  into  her  own  flat  she  had  this  to  think 
about.  She  did  not  know  whether  she  would  ever  see 
this  man  any  more.  What  difference  could  it  make — 
what  difference  could  it  make? 

Hurstwood  had  returned,  and  was  already  in  bed.  His 
clothes  were  scattered  loosely  about.  Carrie  came  to 
the  door  and  saw  him,  then  retreated.  She  did  not 
want  to  go  in  yet  a  while.  She  wanted  to  think.  It  was 
disagreeable  to  her. 

Back  in  the  dining-room  she  sat  in  her  chair  and 
rocked.  Her  little  hands  were  folded  tightly  as  she 
thought.  Through  a  fog  of  longing  and  conflicting  de- 
sires she  was  beginning  to  see.  Oh,  ye  legions  of  hope 
and  pity — of  sorrow  and  pain !  She  was  rocking,  and 
beginning  to  see. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

WITHOUT  THE  WALLED   CITY :  THE   SLOPE   OF  THE  YEARS 

The  immediate  result  of  this  was  nothing.  Results 
from  such  things  are  usually  long  in  growing.  Morn- 
ing brings  a  change  of  feeling.  The  existent  condition 
invariably  pleads  for  itself.  It  is  only  at  odd  moments 
that  we  get  glimpses  of  the  misery  of  things.  The 
heart  understands  when  it  is  confronted  with  contrasts. 
Take  them  away  and  the  ache  subsides. 

Carrie  went  on,  leading  much  this  same  life  for  six 
months  thereafter  or  more.  She  did  not  see  Ames  any 
more.  He  called  once  upon  the  Vances,  but  she  only 
heard  about  it  through  the  young  wife.  Then  he  went 
West,  and  there  was  a  gradual  subsidence  of  whatever 
personal  attraction  had  existed.  The  mental  effect  of 
the  thing  had  not  gone,  however,  and  never  would  en- 
tirely. She  had  an  ideal  to  contrast  men  by — particu- 
larly men  close  to  her. 

During  all  this  time — a  period  rapidly  approaching 
three  years — Hurstwood  had  been  moving  along  in  an 
even  path.  There  was  no  apparent  slope  downward, 
and  distinctly  none  upward,  so  far  as  the  casual  obser- 
ver might  have  seen.  But  psychologically  there  was  a 
change,  which  was  marked  enough  to  suggest  the  fu- 
ture very  distinctly  indeed.  This  was  in  ,the  mere 
matter  of  the  halt  his  career  had  received  when  he  de- 
parted from  Chicago.  A  man's  fortune  or  material 
progress  is  very  much  the  same  as  his  bodily  growth. 
Either  he  is  growing  stronger,  healthier,  wiser,  as  the 


SISTER  CARRIE  361 

youth  approaching  manhood,  or  he  is  growing  weaker, 
older,  less  incisive  mentally,  as  the  man  approaching 
old  age.  There  are  no  other  states.  Frequently  there 
is  a  period  between  the  cessation  of  youthful  accretion 
and  the  setting  in,  in  the  case  of  the  middle-aged  man, 
of  the  tendency  toward  decay  when  the  two  processes 
are  almost  perfectly  balanced  and  there  is  little  doing 
in  either  direction.  Given  time  enough,  however,  the 
balance  becomes  a  sagging  to  the  grave  side.  Slowly 
at  first,  then  with  a  modest  momentum,  and  at  last  the 
graveward  process  is  in  the  full  swing.  So  it  is  fre- 
quently with  man's  fortune.  If  its  process  of  accretion 
is  never  halted,  if  the  balancing  stage  is  never  reached, 
there  will  be  no  toppling.  Rich  men  are,  frequently, 
in  these  days,  saved  from  this  dissolution  of  their  for- 
tune by  their  ability  to  hire  younger  brains.  These 
younger  brains  look  upon  the  interests  of  the  fortune 
as  their  own,  and  so  steady  and  direct  its  progress.  If 
each  individual  were  left  absolutely  to  the  care  of  his 
own  interests,  and  were  given  time  enough  in  which  to 
grow  exceedingly  old,  his  fortune  would  pass  as  his 
strength  and  will.  He  and  his  would  be  utterly  dis- 
solved and  scattered  unto  the  four  winds  of  the 
heavens. 

But  now  see  wherein  the  parallel  changes.  A  for- 
tune, like  a  man,  is  an  organism  which  draws  to  itself 
other  minds  and  other  strength  than  that  inherent  in 
the  founder.  Beside  the  young  minds  drawn  to  it  by 
salaries,  it  becomes  allied  with  young  forces,  v/hich 
make  for  its  existence  even  when  the  strength  and  wis- 
dom of  the  founder  are  fading.  It  may  be  conserved  by 
the  growth  of  a  community  or  of  a  state.  It  may  be 
involved  in  providing  something  for  which  there  is  a 
growing  demand.  This  removes  it  at  once  beyond  the 
special  care  of  the  founder.     It  needs  not  so  much  fore- 


362  SISTER  CARRIE 

sight  now  as  direction.  The  man  wanes,  the  need  con- 
tinues or  grows,  and  the  fortune,  fallen  into  whose 
hands  it  may,  continues.  Hence,  some  men  never  rec- 
ognise the  turning  in  the  tide  of  their  abilities.  It  is 
only  in  chance  cases,  where  a  fortune  or  a  state  of  suc- 
cess is  wrested  from  them,  that  the  lack  of  ability  to  do 
as  they  did  formerly  becomes  apparent.  Hurstwood, 
set  down  under  new  conditions,  was  in  a  position  to  see 
that  he  was  no  longer  young.  If  he  did  not,  it  was  due 
wholly  to  the  fact  that  his  state  was  so  well  balanced 
that  an  absolute  change  for  the  worse  did  not  show. 

Not  trained  to  reason  or  introspect  himself,  he  could 
not  analyse  the  change  that  was  taking  place  in  his 
mind,  and  hence  his  body,  but  he  felt  the  depression  of 
it.  Constant  comparison  between  his  old  state  and  his 
new  showed  a  balance  for  the  worse,  which  produced 
a  constant  state  of  gloom  or,  at  least,  depression.  Now, 
it  has  been  shown  experimentally  that  a  constantly 
subdued  frame  of  mind  produces  certain  poisons  in  the 
blood,  called  katastates,  just  as  virtuous  feelings  of 
pleasure  and  delight  produce  helpful  chemicals  called 
anastates.  The  poisons  generated  by  remorse  inveigh 
against  the  system,  and  eventually  produce  marked 
physical  deterioration.  To  these  Hurstwood  was  sub- 
ject. 

In  the  course  of  time  it  told  upon  his  temper.  His 
eye  no  longer  possessed  that  buoyant,  searching  shrewd- 
ness which  had  characterised  it  in  Adams  Street.  His 
step  was  not  as  sharp  and  firm.  He  was  given  to  think- 
ing, thinking,  thinking.  The  new  friends  he  made  were 
not  celebrities.  They  were  of  a  cheaper,  a  slightly  more 
sensual  and  cruder,  grade.  He  could  not  possibly  take 
the  pleasure  in  this  company  that  he  had  in  that  of 
those  fine  frequenters  of  the  Chicago  resort.  He  was 
left  to  brood. 


SISTER  CARRIE  363 

Slowly,  exceedingly  slowly,  his  desire  to  greet,  con- 
ciliate, and  make  at  home  these  people  who  visited  the 
Warren  Street  place  passed  from  him.  More  and  more 
slowly  the  significance  of  the  realm  he  had  left  began 
to  be  clear.  It  did  not  seem  so  wonderful  to  be  in  it 
when  he  was  in  it.  It  had  seemed  very  easy  for  any 
one  to  get  up  there  and  have  ample  raiment  and  money 
to  spend,  but  now  that  he  was  out  of  it,  how  far  off  it 
became.  He  began  to  see  as  one  sees  a  city  with  a  wall 
about  it.  Men  were  posted  at  the  gates.  You  could 
not  get  in.  Those  inside  did  not  care  to  come  out  to 
see  who  you  were.  They  were  so  merry  inside  there 
that  all  those  outside  were  forgotten,  and  he  was  on  the 
outside. 

Each  day  he  could  read  in  the  evening  papers  of  the 
doings  within  this  walled  city.  In  the  notices  of  pas- 
sengers for  Europe  he  read  the  names  of  eminent  fre- 
quenters of  his  old  resort.  In  the  theatrical  column  ap- 
peared, from  time  to  time,  announcements  of  the  latest 
successes  of  men  he  had  known.  He  knew  that  they 
were  at  their  old  gayeties.  Pullmans  were  hauling  them 
to  and  fro  about  the  land,  papers  were  greeting  them 
with  interesting  mentions,  the  elegant  lobbies  of  hotels 
and  the  glow  of  polished  dining-rooms  were  keeping 
them  close  within  the  walled  city.  Men  whom  he  had 
known,  men  whom  he  had  tipped  glasses  with — rich 
men,  and  he  was  forgotten!  Who  was  Mr.  Wheeler? 
What  was  the  Warren  Street  resort?     Bah! 

If  one  thinks  that  such  thoughts  do  not  come  to  so 
common  a  type  of  mind — that  such  feelings  require  a 
higher  mental  development — I  would  urge  for  their 
consideration  the  fact  that  it  is  the  higher  mental  devel- 
opment that  does  away  with  such  thoughts.  It  is  the 
higher  mental  development  which  induces  philosophy 
and  that  fortitude  which  refuses  to  dwell  upon  such 


364  SISTER  CARRIE 

things — refuses  to  be  made  to  suffer  by  their  considera- 
tion. The  common  type  of  mind  is  exceedingly  keen 
on  all  matters  which  relate  to  its  physical  welfare — 
exceedingly  keen.  It  is  the  unintellectual  miser  who 
sweats  blood  at  the  loss  of  a  hundred  dollars.  It  is  the 
Epictetus  who  smiles  when  the  last  vestige  of  physical 
welfare  is  removed. 

The  time  came,  in  the  third  year,  when  this  thinking 
began  to  produce  results  in  the  Warren  Street  place. 
The  tide  of  patronage  dropped  a  little  below  what  it 
had  been  at  its  best  since  he  had  been  there.  This  irri- 
tated and  worried  him. 

There  came  a  night  when  he  confessed  to  Carrie  that 
the  business  was  not  doing  as  well  this  month  as  it  had 
the  month  before.  This  was  in  lieu  of  certain  sugges- 
tions she  had  made  concerning  little  things  she  wanted 
to  buy.  She  had  not  failed  to  notice  that  he  did  not 
seem  to  consult  her  about  buying  clothes  for  himself. 
For  the  first  time,  it  struck  her  as  a  ruse,  or  that  he 
said  it  so  that  she  would  not  think  of  asking  for  things. 
Her  reply  was  mild  enough,  but  her  thoughts  were 
rebellious.  He  was  not  looking  after  her  at  all.  She 
was  depending  for  her  enjoyment  upon  the  Vances. 

And  now  the  latter  announced  that  they  were  going 
away.  It  was  approaching  spring,  and  they  were 
going  North. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vance  to  Carrie,  "  we  think  we 
might  as  well  give  up  the  fiat  and  store  our  things. 
We'll  be  gone  for  the  summer,  and  it  would  be  a  useless 
expense.  I  think  we'll  settle  a  little  farther  down  town 
when  we  come  back." 

Carrie  heard  this  with  genuine  sorrow.  She  had  en- 
joyed Mrs.  Vance's  companionship  so  much.  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  house  whom  she  knew.  Again 
she  would  be  all  alone. 


SISTER  CARRIE  365 

Hurstwood's  gloom  over  the  slight  decrease  in  prof- 
its and  the  departure  of  the  Vances  came  together.  So 
Carrie  had  loneliness  and  this  mood  of  her  husband  to 
enjoy  at  the  same  time.  It  was  a  grievous  thing.  She 
became  restless  and  dissatisfied,  not  exactly,  as  she 
thought,  with  Hurstwood,  but  with  life.  What  was  it? 
A  very  dull  round  indeed.  What  did  she  have  ?  Noth- 
ing but  this  narrow,  little  flat.  The  Vances  could 
travel,  they  could  do  the  things  worth  doing,  and  here 
she  was.  For  what  was  she  made,  anyhow?  More 
thought  followed,  and  then  tears — tears  seemed  jus- 
tified, and  the  only  relief  in  the  world. 

For  another  period  this  state  continued,  the  twain 
leading  a  rather  monotonous  life,  and  then  there  was 
a  slight  change  for  the  worse.  One  evening,  Hurst- 
wood, after  thinking  about  a  way  to  modify  Carrie's 
desire  for  clothes  and  the  general  strain  upon  his  ability 
to  provide,  said : 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  ever  be  able  to  do  much  with 
Shaughnessy." 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  slow,  greedy  '  mick  ' !  He  won't  agree  to 
anything  to  improve  the  place,  and  it  won't  ever  pay 
without  it." 

"  Can't  you  make  him  ?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  No ;  I've  tried.  The  only  thing  I  can  see,  if  I  want 
to  improve,  is  to  get  hold  of  a  place  of  my  own." 

"  Why  don't  you  ?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  all  I  have  is  tied  up  in  there  just  now.  If  I 
had  a  chance  to  save  a  while  I  think  I  could  open  a  place 
that  would  give  us  plenty  of  money." 

"  Can't  we  save?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  We  might  try  it,"  he  suggested.  "  I've  been  think- 
ing that  if  we'd  take  a  smaller  flat  down  town  and  live 
economically  for  a  year,  I  would  have  enough,  with 


366  SISTER  CARRIE 

what  I  have  invested,  to  open, a  good  place.  Then  we 
could  arrange  to  live  as  you  want  to." 

"  It  would  suit  me  all  right,"  said  Carrie,  who,  never- 
theless, felt  badly  to  think  it  had  come  to  this.  Talk  of 
a  smaller  flat  sounded  like  poverty. 

"  There  are  lots  of  nice  little  flats  down  around  Sixth 
Avenue,  below  Fourteenth  Street.  We  might  get  one 
down  there." 

"  I'll  look  at  them  if  you  say  so,"  said  Carrie. 

"  I  think  I  could  break  away  from  this  fellow  inside 
of  a  year,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  Nothing  will  ever  come 
of  this  arrangement  as  it's  going  on  now." 

"  I'll  look  around,"  said  Carrie,  observing  that  the 
proposed  change  seemed  to  be  a  serious  thing  with  him. 

The  upshot  of  this  was  that  the  change  was  eventu- 
ally effected;  not  without  great  gloom  on  the  part  of 
Carrie.  It  really  affected  her  more  seriously  than  any- 
thing that  had  yet  happened.  She  began  to  look  upon 
Hurstwood  wholly  as  a  man,  and  not  as  a  lover  or  hus- 
band. She  felt  thoroughly  bound  to  him  as  a  wife,  and 
that  her  lot  was  cast  with  his,  whatever  it  might  be; 
but  she  began  to  see  that  he  was  gloomy  and  taciturn, 
not  a  young,  strong,  and  buoyant  man.  He  looked  a 
little  bit  old  to  her  about  the  eyes  and  mouth  now,  and 
there  were  other  things  which  placed  him  in  his  true 
rank,  so  far  as  her  estimation  was  concerned.  She  be- 
gan to  feel  that  she  had  made  a  mistake.  Incidentally, 
she  also  began  to  recall  the  fact  that  he  had  practically 
forced  her  to  flee  with  him. 

The  new  flat  was  located  in  Thirteenth  Street,  a  half 
block  west  of  Sixth  Avenue,  and  contained  only  four 
rooms.  The  new  neighbourhood  did  not  appeal  to 
Carrie  as  much.  There  were  no  trees  here,  no  west 
view  of  the  river.  The  street  was  solidly  built  up. 
There  were  twelve  families  here,  respectable  enough, 


SISTER  CARRIE  367 

but  nothing  like  the  Vances.  Richer  people  required 
more  space. 

Being  left  alone  in  this  little  place,  Carrie  did  without 
a  girl.  She  made  it  charming  enough,  but  could  not 
make  it  delight  her.  Hurstwood  was  not  inwardly 
pleased  to  think  that  they  should  have  to  modify  their 
state,  but  he  argued  that  he  could  do  nothing.  He  must 
put  the  best  face  on  it,  and  let  it  go  at  that. 

He  tried  to  show  Carrie  that  there  was  no  cause  for 
financial  alarm,  but  only  congratulation  over  the  chance 
he  would  have  at  the  end  of  the  year  by  taking  her 
rather  more  frequently  to  the  theatre  and  by  providing 
a  liberal  table.  This  was  for  the  time  only.  He  was 
getting  in  the  frame  of  mind  where  he  wanted  princi- 
pally to  be  alone  and  to  be  allowed  to  think.  The  dis- 
ease of  brooding  was  beginning  to  claim  him  as  a  vic- 
tim. Only  the  newspapers  and  his  own  thoughts  were 
worth  while.  The  delight  of  love  had  again  slipped 
away.  It  was  a  case  of  live,  now,  making  the  best  you 
can  out  of  a  very  commonplace  station  in  life. 

The  road  downward  has  but  few  landings  and  level 
places.  The  very  state  of  his  mind,  superinduced  by 
his  condition,  caused  the  breach  to  widen  between  him 
and  his  partner.  At  last  that  individual  began  to  wish 
that  Hurstwood  was  out  of  it.  It  so  happened,  how- 
ever, that  a  real  estate  deal  on  the  part  of  the  owner  of 
the  land  arranged  things  even  more  effectually  than 
ill-will  could  have  schemed. 

"  Did  you  see  that?  "  said  Shaughnessy  one  morning 
to  Hurstwood,  pointing  to  the  real  estate  column  in  a 
copy  of  the  "  Herald,"  which  he  held. 

"No,  what  is  it?"  said  Hurstwood,  looking  down 
the  items  of  news. 

"  The  man  who  owns  this  ground  has  sold  it." 

"  You  don't  say  so?  "  said  Hurstwood. 


368  SISTER  CARRIE 

He  looked,  and  there  was  the  notice.  Mr.  August 
Viele  had  yesterday  registered  the  transfer  of  the  lot, 
25  x  75  feet,  at  the  corner  of  Warren  and  Hudson 
streets,  to  J.  F.  Slawson  for  the  sum  of  $57,000. 

"  Our  lease  expires  when?  "  asked  Hurstwood,  think- 
ing.    "  Next  February,  isn't  it?  " 

"  That's  right,"  said  Shaughnessy. 

"  It  doesn't  say  what  the  new  man's  going  to  do 
with  it,"  remarked  Hurstwood,  looking  back  to  the 
paper. 

"  We'll  hear,  I  guess,  soon  enough,"  said  Shaugh- 
nessy. 

Sure  enough,  it  did  develop.  Mr.  Slawson  owned 
the  property  adjoining,  and  was  going  to  put  up  a 
modern  office  building.  The  present  one  was  to  be 
torn  down.  It  would  take  probably  a  year  and  a  half 
to  complete  the  other  one. 

All  these  things  developed  by  degrees,  and  Hurst- 
wood began  to  ponder  over  what  would  become  of  the 
saloon.     One  day  he  spoke  about  it  to  his  partner. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  be  worth  while  to  open  up 
somewhere  else  in  the  neighbourhood  ?  " 

"  What  would  be  the  use  ?  "  said  Shaughnessy.  "  We 
couldn't  get  another  corner  around  here." 

"  It  wouldn't  pay  anywhere  else,  do  you  think?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  try  it,"  said  the  other. 

The  approaching  change  now  took  on  a  most  serious 
aspect  to  Hurstwood.  Dissolution  meant  the  loss  of 
his  thousand  dollars,  and  he  could  not  save  another 
thousand  in  the  time.  He  understood  that  Shaugh- 
nessy was  merely  tired  of  the  arrangement,  and  would 
probably  lease  the  new  corner,  when  completed,  alone. 
He  began  to  worry  about  the  necessity  of  a  new  con- 
nection and  to  see  impending  serious  financial  straits 
unless  something  turned  up.     This  left  him  in  no  mood 


SISTER  CARRIE  369 

to  enjoy  bis  fiat  or  Carrie,  and  consequently  the  depres- 
sion invaded  that  quarter. 

Meanwhile,  he  took  such  time  as  he  could  to  look 
about,  but  opportunities  were  not  numerous.  More, 
he  had  not  the  same  impressive  personality  which  he 
had  when  he  first  came  to  New  York.  Bad  thoughts 
had  put  a  shade  into  his  eyes  which  did  not  impress 
others  favourably.  Neither  had  he  thirteen  hundred 
dollars  in  hand  to  talk  with.  About  a  month  later, 
finding  that  he  had  not  made  any  progress,  Shaugh- 
nessy  reported  definitely  that  Slawson  would  not  ex- 
tend the  lease. 

"  I  guess  this  thing's  got  to  come  to  an  end,"  he  said, 
affecting  an  air  of  concern. 

"  Well,  if  it  has,  it  has,"  answered  Hurstwood, 
grimly.  He  would  not  give  the  other  a  key  to  his 
opinions,  whatever  they  were.  He  should  not  have 
the  satisfaction. 

A  day  or  two  later  he  saw  that  he  must  say  some- 
thing to  Carrie. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I'm  going  to  get  the 
worst  of  my  deal  down  there." 

"  How  is  that?  "  asked  Carrie  in  astonishment. 

"  Well,  the  man  who  owns  the  ground  has  sold  it, 
and  the  new  owner  won't  re-lease  it  to  us.  The  business 
may  come  to  i.:i  end." 

"  Can't  you  start  somewhere  else?  " 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  place.  Shaughnessy 
doesn't  want  to." 

"  Do  you  lose  what  you  put  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hurstwood,  whose  face  was  a  study. 

"  Oh,  isn't  that  too  bad?"  said  Carrie. 

"  It's  a  trick,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  That's  all.  They'll 
start  another  place  there  all  right." 

Carrie  looked  at  him,  and  gathered  from  his  whole 
24 


370  SISTER  CARRIE 

demeanour  what  it  meant.  It  was  serious,  very- 
serious. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  get  something  else  ?  "  she 
ventured,  timidly. 

Hurstwood  thought  a  while.  It  was  all  up  with  the 
bluff  about  money  and  investment.  She  could  see  now 
that  he  was  "  broke." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  solemnly ;  "  I  can  try." 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE  GRIND  OF  THE  MILLSTONES  :  A  SAMPLE  OF  CHAFF 

Carrie  pondered  over  this  situation  as  consistently  as 
Hurstwood,  once  she  got  the  facts  adjusted  in  her  mind. 
It  took  several  days  for  her  to  fully  realise  that  the 
approach  of  the  dissolution  of  her  husband's  business 
meant  commonplace  struggle  and  privation.  Her  mind 
went  back  to  her  early  venture  in  Chicago,  the  Han- 
sons and  their  flat,  and  her  heart  revolted.  That  was 
terrible !  Everything  about  poverty  was  terrible.  She 
wished  she  knew  a  way  out.  Her  recent  experiences 
with  the  Vances  had  wholly  unfitted  her  to  view  her 
own  state  with  complacence.  The  glamour  of  the  high 
life  of  the  city  had,  in  the  few  experiences  afforded  her 
by  the  former,  seized  her  completely.  She  had  been 
taught  how  to  dress  and  where  to  go  without  having 
ample  means  to  do  either.  Now,  these  things — ever- 
present  realities  as  they  were — filled  her  eyes  and  mind. 
The  more  circumscribed  became  her  state,  the  more 
entrancing  seemed  this  other.  And  now  poverty  threat- 
ened to  seize  her  entirely  and  to  remove  this  other 
world  far  upward  like  a  heaven  to  which  any  Lazarus 
might  extend,  appealingly,  his  hands. 

So,  too,  the  ideal  brought  into  her  life  by  Ames  re- 
mained. He  had  gone,  but  here  was  his  word  that 
riches  were  not  everything ;  that  there  was  a  great  deal 
more  in  the  world  than  she  knew;  that  the  stage  was 
good,  and  the  literature  she  read  poor.     He  was  a 


372  SISTER  CARRIE 

strong  man  and  clean — how  much  stronger  and  better 
than  Hurstwood  and  Drouet  she  only  half  formulated 
to  herself,  but  the  difference  was  painful.  It  was  some- 
thing to  which  she  voluntarily  closed  her  eyes. 

During  the  last  three  months  of  the  Warren  Street 
connection,  Hurstwood  took  parts  of  days  off  and 
hunted,  tracking  the  business  advertisements.  It  was  a 
more  or  less  depressing  business,  wholly  because  of  the 
thought  that  he  must  soon  get  something  or  he  would 
begin  to  live  on  the  few  hundred  dollars  he  was  saving, 
and  then  he  would  have  nothing  to  invest — he  would 
have  to  hire  out  as  a  clerk. 

Everything  he  discovered  in  his  line  advertised  as  an 
opportunity,  was  either  too  expensive  or  too  wretched 
for  him.  Besides,  winter  was  coming,  the  papers  were 
announcing  hardships,  and  there  was  a  general  feeling 
of  hard  times  in  the  air,  or,  at  least,  he  thought  so.  In 
his  worry,  other  people's  worries  became  apparent.  No 
item  about  a  firm  failing,  a  family  starving,  or  a  man 
dying  upon  the  streets,  supposedly  of  starvation,  but 
arrested  his  eye  as  he  scanned  the  morning  papers. 
Once  the  "  World  "  came  out  with  a  flaring  announce- 
ment about"  80,000  people  out  of  employment  in  New 
York  this  winter,"  which  struck  as  a  knife  at  his  heart. 

"  Eighty  thousand !  "  he  thought.  "  What  an  awful 
thing  that  is." 

This  was  new  reasoning  for  Hurstwood.  In  the  old 
days  the  world  had  seemed  to  be  getting  along  well 
enough.  He  had  been  wont  to  see  similar  things  in 
the  "  Daily  News,"  in  Chicago,  but  they  did  not  hold 
his  attention.  Now,  these  things  were  like  grey  clouds 
hovering  along  the  horizon  of  a  clear  day.  They 
threatened  to  cover  and  obscure  his  life  with  chilly 
greyness.  He  tried  to  shake  them  off,  to  forget  and 
brace  up.     Sometimes  he  said  to  himself,  mentally: 


SISTER  CARRIE  373 

"What's  the  use  worrying?  I'm  not  out  yet.  I've 
got  six  weeks  more.  Even  if  worst  comes  to  worst, 
I've  got  enough  to  live  on  for  six  months." 

Curiously,  as  he  troubled  over  his  future,  his 
thoughts  occasionally  reverted  to  his  wife  and  family. 
He  had  avoided  such  thoughts  for  the  first  three  years 
as  much  as  possible.  He  hated  her,  and  he  could 
get  along  without  her.  Let  her  go.  He  would  do  well 
enough.  Now,  however,  when  he  was  not  doing  well 
enough,  he  began  to  wonder  what  she  was  doing,  how 
his  children  were  getting  along.  He  could  see  them 
living  as  nicely  as  ever,  occupying  the  comfortable 
house  and  using  his  property. 

"  By  George !  it's  a  shame  they  should  have  it  all," 
he  vaguely  thought  to  himself  on  several  occasions. 
"  I  didn't  do  anything." 

As  he  looked  back  now  and  analysed  the  situation 
which  led  up  to  his  taking  the  money,  he  began  mildly 
to  justify  himself.  What  had  he  done — what  in  the 
world — that  should  bar  him  out  this  way  and  heap  such 
difficulties  upon  him  ?  It  seemed  only  yesterday  to  him 
since  he  was  comfortable  and  well-to-do.  But  now  it 
was  all  wrested  from  him. 

"  She  didn't  deserve  what  she  got  out  of  me,  that  is 
sure.  I  didn't  do  so  much,  if  everybody  could  just 
know." 

There  was  no  thought  that  the  facts  ought  to  be  ad- 
vertised. It  was  only  a  mental  justification  he  was 
seeking  from  Himself — something  that  would  enable 
him  to  bear  his  state  as  a  righteous  man. 

One  afternoon,  five  weeks  before  the  Warren  Street 
place  closed  up,  he  left  the  saloon  to  visit  three  or  four 
places  he  saw  advertised  in  the  "  Herald."  One  was 
down  in  Gold  Street,  and  he  visited  that,  but  did  not 
enter.     It  was  such  a  cheap  looking  place  he  felt  that 


374 


SISTER  CARRIE 


he  could  not  abide  it.  Another  was  on  the  Bowery, 
which  he  knew  contained  many  showy  resorts.  It  was 
near  Grand  Street,  and  turned  out  to  be  very  hand- 
somely fitted  up.  He  talked  around  about  investments 
for  fully  three-quarters  of  an  hour  with  the  proprietor, 
who  maintained  that  his  health  was  poor,  and  that  was 
the  reason  he  wished  a  partner. 

"  Well,  now,  just  how  much  money  would  it  take  to 
buy  a  half  interest  here?"  said  Hurstwood,  who  saw 
seven  hundred  dollars  as  his  limit. 

"  Three  thousand,"  said  the  man. 

Hurstwood's  jaw  fell. 

"Cash?  "he  said. 

"  Cash." 

He  tried  to  put  on  an  air  of  deliberation,  as  one  who 
might  really  buy;  but  his  eyes  showed  gloom.  He 
wound  up  by  saying  he  would  think  it  over,  and  came 
away.  The  man  he  had  been  talking  to  sensed  his 
condition  in  a  vague  way. 

"  I  don't  think  he  wants  to  buy,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  He  doesn't  talk  right." 

The  afternoon  was  as  grey  as  lead  and  cold.  It  was 
blowing  up  a  disagreeable  winter  wind.  He  visited  a 
place  far  up  on  the  east  side,  near  Sixty-ninth  Street, 
and  it  was  five  o'clock,  and  growing  dim,  when  he 
reached  there.     A  portly  German  kept  this  place. 

"  How  about  this  ad.  of  yours  ?  "  asked  Hurstwood, 
who  rather  objected  to  the  looks  of  the  place. 

"  Oh,  dat  iss  all  over,"  said  the  German.  "  I  vill  not 
sell  now." 

"Oh,  is  that  so?" 

"  Yes ;  dere  is  nothing  to  dat.     It  iss  all  over." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Hurstwood,  turning  around. 

The  German  paid  no  more  attention  to  him,  and  it 
made  him  angry. 


SISTER  CARRIE  375 

"  The  crazy  ass !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  What  does 
he  want  to  advertise  for?  " 

Wholly  depressed,  he  started  for  Thirteenth  Street. 
The  flat  had  only  a  light  in  the  kitchen,  where  Carrie 
was  working.  He  struck  a  match  and,  lighting  the  gas, 
sat  down  in  the  dining-room  without  even  greeting  her. 
She  came  to  the  door  and  looked  in. 

"  It's  you,  is  it?  "  she  said,  and  went  back. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  without  even  looking  up  from  the 
evening  paper  he  had  bought. 

Carrie  saw  things  were  wrong  with  him.  He  was 
not  so  handsome  when  gloomy.  The  lines  at  the  sides 
of  the  eyes  were  deepened.  Naturally  dark  of  skin, 
gloom  made  him  look  slightly  sinister.  He  was  quite 
a  disagreeable  figure. 

Carrie  set  the  table  and  brought  in  the  meal. 

"Dinner's  ready,"  she  said,  passing  him  for  some- 
thing. 

He  did  not  answer,  reading  on. 

She  came  in  and  sat  down  at  her  place,  feeling  ex- 
ceedingly wretched. 

"  Won't  you  eat  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  folded  his  paper  and  drew  near,  silence  holding 
for  a  time,  except  for  the  "  Pass  me's." 

"  It's  been  gloomy  to-day,  hasn't  it  ?  "  ventured  Car- 
rie, after  a  time. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

He  only  picked  at  his  food. 

"  Are  you  still  sure  to  close  up  ?  "  said  Carrie,  ventur- 
ing to  take  up  the  subject  which  they  had  discussed 
often  enough. 

"  Of  course  we  are,"  he  said,  with  the  slightest  modi- 
fication of  sharpness. 

This  retort  angered  Carrie.  She  had  had  a  dreary 
day  of  it  herself. 


376  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  You  needn't  talk  like  that,"  she  said. 

"  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed,  pushing  back  from  the  table,  as 
if  to  say  more,  but  letting  it  go  at  that.  Then  he  picked 
up  his  paper.  Carrie  left  her  seat,  containing  herself 
with  difficulty.     He  saw  she  was  hurt. 

"  Don't  go  'way,"  he  said,  as  she  started  back  into 
the  kitchen.     "  Eat  your  dinner." 

She  passed,  not  answering. 

He  looked  at  the  paper  a  few  moments,  and  then  rose 
up  and  put  on  his  coat. 

"  I'm  going  down  town,  Carrie,"  he  said,  coming  out. 
"  I'm  out  of  sorts  to-night." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  all  right  to- 
morrow." 

He  looked  at  her,  but  she  paid  no  attention  to  him, 
working  at  her  dishes. 

"  Good-bye !  "  he  said  finally,  and  went  out. 

This  was  the  first  strong  result  of  the  situation  be- 
tween them,  but  with  the  nearing  of  the  last  day  of  the 
business  the  gloom  became  almost  a  permanent  thing. 
Hurstwood  could  not  conceal  his  feelings  about  the 
matter.  Carrie  could  not  help  wondering  where  she 
was  drifting.  It  got  so  that  they  talked  even  less  than 
usual,  and  yet  it  was  not  Hurstwood  who  felt  any  ob- 
jection to  Carrie.  It  was  Carrie  who  shied  away  from 
him.  This  he  noticed.  It  aroused  an  objection  to 
her  becoming  indifferent  to  him.  He  made  the  possi- 
bility of  friendly  intercourse  almost  a  giant  task,  and 
then  noticed  with  discontent  that  Carrie  added  to  it  by 
her  manner  and  made  it  more  impossible. 

At  last  the  final  day  came.  When  it  actually  ar- 
rived, Hurstwood,  who  had  got  his  mind  into  such  a 
state  where  a  thunder-clap  and  raging  storm  would 
have  seemed  highly  appropriate,  was  rather  relieved  to 


SISTER  CARRIE  377 

find  that  it  was  a  plain,  ordinary  day.  The  sun  shone, 
the  temperature  was  pleasant.  He  felt,  as  he  came  to 
the  breakfast  table,  that  it  wasn't  so  terrible,  after  all. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  Carrie,  "  to-day's  my  last  day  on 
earth." 

Carrie  smiled  in  answer  to  his  humour. 

Hurstwood  glanced  over  his  paper  rather  gayly.  He 
seemed  to  have  lost  a  load. 

"  I'll  go  down  for  a  little  while,"  he  said  after  break- 
fast, "  and  then  I'll  look  around.  To-morrow  I'll  spend 
the  whole  day  looking  about.  I  think  I  can  get  some- 
thing, now  this  thing's  off  my  hands." 

He  went  out  smiling  and  visited  the  place.  Shaugh- 
nessy  was  there.  They  had  made  all  arrangements  to 
share  according  to  their  interests.  When,  however,  he 
had  been  there  several  hours,  gone  out  three  more,  and 
returned,  his  elation  had  departed.  As  much  as  he  had 
objected  to  the  place,  now  that  it  was  no  longer  to  exist, 
he  felt  sorry.     He  wished  that  things  were  different. 

Shaughnessy  was  coolly  business-like. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  five  o'clock,  "  we  might  as  well 
count  the  change  and  divide." 

They  did  so.  The  fixtures  had  already  been  sold  and 
the  sum  divided. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Hurstwood  at  the  final  moment, 
in  a  last  effort  to  be  genial. 

"  So  long,"  said  Shaughnessy,  scarcely  deigning  a 
notice. 

Thus  the  Warren  Street  arrangement  was  per- 
manently concluded. 

Carrie  had  prepared  a  good  dinner  at  the  flat,  but 
after  his  ride  up,  Hurstwood  was  in  a  solemn  and  re- 
flective mood. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Carrie,  inquisitively. 

"  I'm  out  of  that,"  he  answered,  taking  off  his  coat. 


378  SISTER  CARRIE 

As  she  looked  at  him,  she  wondered  what  his  finan- 
cial state  was  now.     They  ate  and  talked  a  little. 

"Will  you  have  enough  to  buy  in  anywhere  else?" 
asked  Carrie. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I'll  have  to  get  something  else  and 
save  up." 

"  It  would  be  nice  if  you  could  get  some  place,"  said 
Carrie,  prompted  by  anxiety  and  hope. 

"  I  guess  I  will,"  he  said  reflectively. 

For  some  days  thereafter  he  put  on  his  overcoat 
regularly  in  the  morning  and  sallied  forth.  On  these 
ventures  he  first  consoled  himself  with  the  thought 
that  with  the  seven  hundred  dollars  he  had  he  could 
still  make  some  advantageous  arrangement.  He 
thought  about  going  to  some  brewery,  which,  as  he 
knew,  frequently  controlled  saloons  which  they  leased, 
and  get  them  to  help  him.  Then  he  remembered  that 
he  would  have  to  pay  out  several  hundred  any  way  for 
fixtures  and  that  he  would  have  nothing  left  for  his 
monthly  expenses.  It  was  costing  him  nearly  eighty 
dollars  a  month  to  live. 

"  No,"  he  said,  in  his  sanest  moments,  "  I  can't  do  it. 
I'll  get  something  else  and  save  up." 

This  getting-something  proposition  complicated  it- 
self the  moment  he  began  to  think  of  what  it  was  he 
wanted  to  do.  Manage  a  place  ?  Where  should  he  get 
such  a  position  ?  The  papers  contained  no  requests  for 
managers.  Such  positions,  he  knew  well  enough,  were 
either  secured  by  long  years  of  service  or  were  bought 
with  a  half  or  third  interest.  Into  a  place  important 
enough  to  need  such  a  manager  he  had  not  money 
enough  to  buy. 

Nevertheless,  he  started  out.  His  clothes  were  very 
good  and  his  appearance  still  excellent,  but  it  involved 
the  trouble  of  deluding.     People,  looking  at  him,  im- 


SISTER  CARRIE  379 

agined  instantly  that  a  man  of  his  age,  stout  and  well 
dressed,  must  be  well  off.  He  appeared  a  comfortable 
owner  of  something,  a  man  from  whom  the  common 
run  of  mortals  could  well  expect  gratuities.  Being  now 
forty-three  years  of  age,  and  comfortably  built,  walking 
was  not  easy.  He  had  not  been  used  to  exercise  for 
many  years.  His  legs  tired,  his  shoulders  ached,  and 
his  feet  pained  him  at  the  close  of  the  day,  even  when 
he  took  street  cars  in  almost  every  direction.  The  mere 
getting  up  and  down,  if  long  continued,  produced  this 
result. 

The  fact  that  people  took  him  to  be  better  off  than  he 
was,  he  well  understood.  It  was  so  painfully  clear  to 
him  that  it  retarded  his  search.  Not  that  he  wished  to 
be  less  well-appearing,  but  that  he  was  ashamed  to  belie 
his  appearance  by  incongruous  appeals.  So  he  hesi- 
tated, wondering  what  to  do. 

He  thought  of  the  hotels,  but  instantly  he  remembered 
that  he  had  had  no  experience  as  a  clerk,  and,  what  was 
more  important,  no  acquaintances  or  friends  in  that  line 
to  whom  he  could  go.  He  did  know  some  hotel  owners 
in  several  cities,  including  New  York,  but  they  knew  of 
his  dealings  with  Fitzgerald  and  Moy.  He  could  not 
apply  to  them.  He  thought  of  other  lines  suggested  by 
large  buildings  or  businesses  which  he  knew  of — whole- 
sale groceries,  hardware,  insurance  concerns,  and  the 
like — but  he  had  had  no  experience. 

How  to  go  about  getting  anything  was  a  bitter 
thought.  Would  he  have  to  go  personally  and  ask ; 
wait  outside  an  office  door,  and,  then,  distinguished  and 
affluent  looking,  announce  that  he  was  looking  for 
something  to  do?  He  strained  painfully  at  the  thought. 
No,  he  could  not  do  that. 

He  really  strolled  about,  thinking,  and  then,  the 
weather  being  cold,  stepped  into  a  hotel.  He  knew  hotels 


380  SISTER  CARRIE 

well  enough  to  know  that  any  decent  looking  individual 
was  welcome  to  a  chair  in  the  lobby.  This  was  in  the 
Broadway  Central,  which  was  then  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant hotels  in  the  city.  Taking  a  chair  here  was  a 
painful  thing  to  him.  To  think  he  should  come  to  this ! 
He  had  heard  loungers  about  hotels  called  chair- 
warmers.  He  had  called  them  that  himself  in  his 
day.  But  here  he  was,  despite  the  possibility  of 
meeting  some  one  who  knew  him,  shielding  himself 
from  cold  and  the  weariness  of  the  streets  in  a  hotel 
lobby. 

"  I  can't  do  this  way,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  There's 
no  use  of  my  starting  out  mornings  without  first  think- 
ing Up  some  place  to  go.  I'll  think  of  some  places  and 
then  look  them  up." 

It  occurred  to  him  that  the  positions  of  bartenders 
were  sometimes  open,  but  he  put  this  out  of  his  mind. 
Bartender — he,  the  ex-manager  1 

It  grew  awfully  dull  sitting  in  the  hotel  lobby,  and  so 
at  four  he  went  home.  He  tried  to  put  on  a  business 
air  as  he  went  in,  but  it  was  a  feeble  imitation.  The 
rocking-chair  in  the  dining-room  was  comfortable.  He 
sank  into  it  gladly,  with  several  papers  he  had  bought, 
and  began  to  read. 

As  she  was  going  through  the  room  to  begin  prepar- 
ing dinner,  Carrie  said : 

"  The  man  was  here  for  the  rent  to-day." 

"  Oh,  was  he?  "  said  Hurstwood. 

The  least  wrinkle  crept  into  his  brow  as  he  remem- 
bered that  this  was  February  2d,  the  time  the  man  al- 
ways called.  He  fished  down  in  his  pocket  for  his 
purse,  getting  the  first  taste  of  paying  out  when  noth- 
ing is  coming  in.  He  looked  at  the  fat,  green  roll  as  a 
sick  man  looks  at  the  one  possible  saving  cure.  Then 
he  counted  off  twenty-eight  dollars. 


SISTER  CARRIE  381 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said  to  Carrie,  when  she  came 
through  again. 

He  buried  himself  in  his  papers  and  read.  Oh,  the 
rest  of  it — the  relief  from  walking  and  thinking !  What 
Lethean  waters  were  these  floods  of  telegraphed  intel- 
ligence !  He  forgot  his  troubles,  in  part.  Here  was  a 
young,  handsome  woman,  if  you  might  believe  the 
newspaper  drawing,  suing  a  rich,  fat,  candy-making 
husband  in  Brooklyn  for  divorce.  Here  was  another 
item  detailing  the  wrecking  of  a  vessel  in  ice  and  snow 
off  Prince's  Bay  on  Staten  Island.  A  long,  bright  col- 
umn told  of  the  doings  in  the  theatrical  world — the 
plays  produced,  the  actors  appearing,  the  managers 
making  announcements.  Fannie  Davenport  was  just 
opening  at  the  Fifth  Avenue.  Daly  was  producing 
"  King  Lear."  He  read  of  the  early  departure  for  the 
season  of  a  party  composed  of  the  Vanderbilts  and  their 
friends  for  Florida.  An  interesting  shooting  affray 
was  on  in  the  mountains  of  Kentucky.  So  he  read, 
read,  read,  rocking  in  the  warm  room  near  the  radiator 
and  waiting  for  dinner  to  be  served. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THE  PASSING  OF  EFFORT:  THE  VISAGE  OF  CARE 

The  next  morning  he  looked  over  the  papers  and 
waded  through  a  long  list  of  advertisements,  making  a 
few  notes.  Then  he  turned  to  the  male-help-wanted 
column,  but  with  disagreeable  feelings.  The  day  was 
before  him — a  long  day  in  which  to  discover  something 
— and  this  was  how  he  must  begin  to  discover.  He 
scanned  the  long  column,  which  mostly  concerned 
bakers,  bushelmen,  cooks,  compositors,  drivers,  and  the 
like,  finding  two  things  only  which  arrested  his  eye. 
One  was  a  cashier  wanted  in  a  wholesale  furniture 
house,  and  the  other  a  salesman  for  a  whiskey  house. 
He  had  never  thought  of  the  latter.  At  once  he  de- 
cided to  look  that  up. 

The  firm  in  question  was  Alsbery  &  Co.,  whiskey 
brokers. 

He  was  admitted  almost  at  once  to  the  manager  on 
his  appearance. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  said  the  latter,  thinking  at  first 
that  he  was  encountering  one  of  his  out-of-town  cus- 
tomers. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  You  adver- 
tised, I  believe,  for  a  salesman  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  the  man,  showing  plainly  the  enlighten- 
ment which  had  come  to  him.     "  Yes.     Yes,  I  did." 

"  I  thought  I'd  drop  in,"  said  Hurstwood,  with  dig- 
nity.    "  I've  had  some  experience  in  that  line  myself." 


SISTER  CARRIE  383 

"  Oh,  have  you  ?  "  said  the  man.  "  What  experience 
have  you  had?  " 

"  Well,  I've  managed  several  liquor  houses  in  my 
time.  Recently  I  owned  a  third-interest  in  a  saloon 
at  Warren  and  Hudson  streets." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  man. 

Hurstwood  ceased,  waiting  for  some  suggestion. 

"  We  did  want  a  salesman,"  said  the  man.  "  I  don't 
know  as  it's  anything  you'd  care  to  take  hold  of, 
though." 

"  I  see,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  Well,  I'm  in  no  position 
to  choose,  just  at  present.  If  it  were  open,  I  should  be 
glad  to  get  it." 

The  man  did  not  take  kindly  at  all  to  his  "  No  posi- 
tion to  choose."  He  wanted  some  one  who  wasn't 
thinking  of  a  choice  or  something  better.  Especially 
not  an  old  man.  He  wanted  some  one  young,  active, 
and  glad  to  work  actively  for  a  moderate  sum.  Hurst- 
wood did  not  please  him  at  all.  He  had  more  of  an  air 
than  his  employers. 

"  Well,"  he  said  in  answer,  "  we'd  be  glad  to  con- 
sider your  application.  We  shan't  decide  for  a  few 
days  yet.     Suppose  you  send  us  your  references." 

"  I  will,"  said  Hurstwood. 

He  nodded  good-morning  and  came  away.  At  the 
corner  he  looked  at  the  furniture  company's  address, 
and  saw  that  it  was  in  West  Twenty-third  Street.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  went  up  there.  The  place  was  not  large 
enough,  however.  It  looked  moderate,  the  men  in  it 
idle  and  small  salaried.  He  walked  by,  glancing  in, 
and  then  decided  not  to  go  in  there. 

"  They  want  a  girl,  probably,  at  ten  a  week,"  he  said. 

At  one  o'clock  he  thought  of  eating,  and  went  to  a 
restaurant  in  Madison  Square.  There  he  pondered 
over  places  which  he  might  look  up.     He  was  tired.     It 


384  SISTER  CARRIE 

was  blowing  up  grey  again.  Across  the  way,  through 
Madison  Square  Park,  stood  the  great  hotels,  looking 
down  upon  a  busy  scene.  He  decided  to  go  over  to  the 
lobby  of  one  and  sit  a  while.  It  was  warm  in  there  and 
bright.  He  had  seen  no  one  he  knew  at  the  Broadway 
Central.  In  all  likelihood  he  would  encounter  no  one 
here.  Finding  a  seat  on  one  of  the  red  plush  divans 
close  to  the  great  windows  which  look  out  on  Broad- 
way's busy  rout,  he  sat  musing.  His  state  did  not  seem 
so  bad  in  here.  Sitting  still  and  looking  out,  he  could 
take  some  slight  consolation  in  the  few  hundred  dollars 
he  had  in  his  purse.  He  could  forget,,  in  a  measure,  the 
weariness  of  the  street  and  his  tiresome  searches.  Still, 
it  was  only  escape  from  a  severe  to  a  less  severe  state. 
He  was  still  gloomy  and  disheartened.  There,  minutes 
seemed  to  go  very  slowly.  An  hour  was  a  long,  long 
time  in  passing.  It  was  filled  for  him  with  observa- 
tions and  mental  comments  concerning  the  actual' 
guests  of  the  hotel,  who  passed  in  and  out,  and  those 
more  prosperous  pedestrians  whose  good  fortune 
showed  in  their  clothes  and  spirits  as  they  passed  along 
Broadway,  outside.  It  was  nearly  the  first  time  since 
he  had  arrived  in  the  city  that  his  leisure  afforded  him 
ample  opportunity  to  contemplate  this  spectacle.  Now, 
being,  perforce,  idle  himself,  he  wondered  at  the  activity 
of  others.  How  gay  were  the  youths  he  saw,  how  pretty 
the  women.  Such  fine  elothes  they  all  wore.  They  were 
so  intent  upon  getting  somewhere.  He  saw  coquet- 
tish glances  cast  by  magnificent  girls.  Ah,  the  money 
it  required  to  train  with  such — how  well  he  knew! 
How  long  it  had  been  since  he  had  had  the  opportunity 
to  do  so  \ 

The  clock  outside  registered  four.  It  was  a  little 
early,  but  he  thought  he  would  go  back  to  the  fiat. 

This  going  back  to  the  flat  was  coupled  with  the 


SISTER  CARRIE  385 

thought  that  Carrie  would  think  he  was  sitting  around 
too  much  if  he  came  home  early.  He  hoped  he  wouldn't 
have  to,  but  the  day  hung  heavily  on  his  hands.  Over 
there  he  was  on  his  own  ground.  He  could  sit  in  his 
rocking-chair  and  read.  This  busy,  distracting,  sug- 
gestive scene  was  shut  out.  He  could  read  his  papers. 
Accordingly,  he  went  home.  Carrie  was  reading,  quite 
alone.     It  was  rather  dark  in  the  flat,  shut  in  as  it  was. 

"  You'll  hurt  your  eyes/'  he  said  when  he  saw  her. 

After  taking  off  his  coat,  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  make  some  little  report  of  his  day. 

"I've  been  talking  with  a  wholesale  liquor  company," 
he  said.     "  I  may  go  out  on  the  road." 

"  Wouldn't  that  be  nice !  "  said  Carrie. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  such  a  bad  thing,"  he  answered. 

Always  from  the  man  at  the  corner  now  he  bought 
two  papers — the  "  Evening  World  "  and  "  Evening 
Sun."  So  now  he  merely  picked  his  papers  up,  as  he 
Came  by,  without  stopping. 

He  drew  up  his  chair  near  the  radiator  and  lighted 
the  gas.  Then  it  was  as  the  evening  before.  His  dif- 
ficulties vanished  in  the  items  he  so  well  loved  to  read. 

The  next  day  was  even  worse  than  the  one  before, 
because  now  he  could  not  think  of  where  to  go.  Noth- 
ing he  saw  in  the  papers  he  studied — till  ten  o'clock — 
appealed  to  him.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  go  out,  and 
yet  he  sickened  at  the  thought.     Where  to,  where  to? 

"  You  mustn't  forget  to  leave  me  my  money  for  this 
week,"  said  Carrie,  quietly. 

They  had  an  arrangement  by  which  he  placed  twelve 
dollars  a  week  in  her  hands,  out  of  which  to  pay  current 
expenses.  He  heaved  a  little  sigh  as  she  said  this,  and 
drew  out  his  purse.  Again  he  felt  the  dread  of  the 
thing.  Here  he  was  taking  off,  taking  off,  and  nothing 
coming  in. 
25 


386  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Lord  !  "  he  said,  in  his  own  thoughts,  "  this  can't  go 
on." 

To  Carrie  he  said  nothing  whatsoever.  She  could 
feel  that  her  request  disturbed  him.  To  pay  her  would 
soon  become  a  distressing  thing. 

"  Yet,  what  have  I  got  to  do  with  it?  "  she  thought. 
"  Oh,  why  should  I  be  made  to  worry?  " 

Hurstwood  went  out  and  made  for  Broadway.  He. 
wanted  to  think  up  some  place.  Before  long,  though, 
he  reached  the  Grand  Hotel  at  Thirty-first  Street.  He 
knew  of  its  comfortable  lobby.  He  was  cold  after  his 
twenty  blocks'  walk. 

"  I'll  go  in  their  barber  shop  and  get  a  shave,"  he 
thought. 

Thus  he  justified  himself  in  sitting  down  in  here  after 
his  tonsorial  treatment. 

Again,  time  hanging  heavily  on  his  hands,  he  went 
home  early,  and  this  continued  for  several  days,  each 
day  the  need  to  hunt  paining  him,  and  each  day  disgust, 
depression,  shamefacedness  driving  him  into  lobby 
idleness. 

At  last  three  days  came  in  which  a  storm  prevailed, 
and  he  did  not  go  out  at  all.  The  snow  began  to  fall 
late  one  afternoon.  It  was  a  regular  flurry  of  large, 
soft,  white  flakes.  In  the  morning  it  was  still  coming 
down  with  a  high  wind,  and  the  papers  announced  a 
blizzard.  From  out  the  front  windows  one  could  see 
a  deep,  soft  bedding. 

"  I  guess  I'll  not  try  to  go  out  to-day,"  he  said  to 
Carrie  at  breakfast.  "  It's  going  to  be  awful  bad,  so 
the  papers  say." 

"  The  man  hasn't  brought  my  coal,  either,"  said  Car- 
rie, who  ordered  by  the  bushel. 

"  I'll  go  over  and  see  about  it,"  said  Hurstwood.  This 
was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  suggested  doing  an 


SISTER  CARRIE  387 

errand,  but,  somehow,  the  wish  to  sit  about  the 
house  prompted  it  as  a  sort  of  compensation  for  the 
privilege. 

All  day  and  all  night  it  snowed,  and  the  city  began 
to  suffer  from  a  general  blockade  of  traffic.  Great  at- 
tention was  given  to  the  details  of  the  storm  by  the 
newspapers,  which  played  up  the  distress  of  the  poor 
in  large  type. 

Hurstwood  sat  and  read  by  his  radiator  in  the  corner. 
He  did  not  try  to  think  about  his  need  of  work.  This 
storm  being  so  terrific,  and  tying  up  all  things,  robbed 
him  of  the  need.  He  made  himself  wholly  comfortable 
and  toasted  his  feet. 

Carrie  observed  his  ease  with  some  misgiving.  For 
all  the  fury  of  the  storm  she  doubted  his  comfort.  He 
took  his  situation  too  philosophically. 

Hurstwood,  however,  read  on  and  on.  He  did  not 
pay  much  attention  to  Carrie.  She  fulfilled  her  house- 
hold duties  and  said  little  to  disturb  him. 

The  next  day  it,  was  still  snowing,  and  the  next,  bitter 
cold.  Hurstwood  took  the  alarm  of  the  paper  and  sat 
still.  Now  he  volunteered  to  do  a  few  other  little 
things.  One  was  to  go  to  the  butcher,  another  to  the 
grocery.  He  really  thought  nothing  of  these  little  ser- 
vices in  connection  with  their  true  significance.  He 
felt  as  if  he  were  not  wholly  useless — indeed,  in  such  a 
stress  of  weather,  quite  worth  while  about  the  house. 

On  the  fourth  day,  however,  it  cleared,  and  he  read 
that  the  storm  was  over.  Now,  however,  he  idled, 
thinking  how  sloppy  the  streets  would  be. 

It  was  noon  before  he  finally  abandoned  his  papers 
and  got  under  way.  Owing  to  the  slightly  warmer 
temperature  the  streets  were  bad.  He  went  across 
Fourteenth  Street  on  the  car  and  got  a  transfer  south  on 
Broadway.     One  little  advertisement  he  had,  relating 


388  SISTER  CARRIE 

to  a  saloon  down  in  Pearl  Street.  When  he  reached 
the  Broadway  Central,  however,  he  changed  his 
mind. 

"  What's  the  use?  "  he  thought,  looking  out  upon  the 
slop  and  snow.  "  I  couldn't  buy  into  it.  It's  a  thou- 
sand to  one  nothing  comes  of  it.  I  guess  I'll  get  off," 
and  off  he  got.  In  the  lobby  he  took  a  seat  and  waited 
again,  wondering  what  he  could  do. 

While  he  was  idly  pondering,  satisfied  to  be  inside, 
a  well-dressed  man  passed  up  the  lobby,  stopped, 
looked  sharply,  as  if  not  sure  of  his  memory,  and  then 
approached.  Hurstwood  recognised  Cargill,  the  owner 
of  the  large  stables  in  Chicago  of  the  same  name,  whom' 
he  had  last  seen  at  Avery  Hall,  the  night  Carrie  ap- 
peared there.  The  remembrance  of  how  this  individual 
brought  up  his  wife  to  shake  hands  on  that  occasion 
was  also  on  the  instant  clear. 

Hurstwood  was  greatly  abashed.  His  eyes  expressed 
the  difficulty  he  felt. 

"  Why,  it's  Hurstwood ! "  said  Cargill,  remember- 
ing now,  and  sorry  that  he  had  not  recognised  him 
quickly  enough  in  the  beginning  to  have  avoided  this 
meeting. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hurstwood.     "  How  are  you?  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Cargill,  troubled  for  something  to 
talk  about.     "  Stopping  here?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hurstwood,  "  just  keeping  an  appoint- 
ment." 

"  I  knew  you  had  left  Chicago.  I  was  wondering 
what  had  become  of  you." 

"  Oh,  I'm  here  now,"  answered  Hurstwood,  anxious 
to  get  away. 

"  Doing  well,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Excellent." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it." 


SISTER  CARRIE  389 

They  looked  at  one  another,  rather  embarrassed. 

"  Well,  I  have  an  engagement  with  a  friend  upstairs. 
I'll  leave  you.     So  long." 

Hurstwood  nodded  his  head. 

"  Damn  it  all,"  he  murmured,  turning  toward  the 
door.     "  I  knew  that  would  happen." 

He  walked  several  blocks  up  the  street.  His  watch 
only  registered  1.30.  He  tried  to  think  of  some  place 
to  go  or  something  to  do.  The  day  was  so  bad  he 
wanted  only  to  be  inside.  Finally  his  feet  began  to  feel 
wet  and  cold,  and  he  boarded  a  car.  This  took  him  to 
Fifty-ninth  Street,  which  was  as  good  as  anywhere  else. 
Landed  here,  he  turned  to  walk  back  along  Seventh 
Avenue,  but  the  slush  was  too  much.  The  misery  of 
lounging  about  with  nowhere  to  go  became  intolerable. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  catching  cold. 

Stopping  at  a  corner,  he  waited  for  a  car  south  bound. 
This  was  no  day  to  be  out;  he  would  go  home. 

Carrie  was  surprised  to  see  him  at  a  quarter  of  three. 

"  It's  a  miserable  day  out,"  was  all  he  said.  Then  he 
took  off  his  coat  and  changed  his  shoes. 

That  night  he  felt  a  cold  coming  on  and  took  quinine. 
He  was  feverish  until  morning,  and  sat  about  the  next 
day  while  Carrie  waited  on  him.  He  was  a  helpless 
creature  in  sickness,  not  very  handsome  in  a  dull- 
coloured  bath  gown  and  his  hair  uncombed.  He  looked 
haggard  about  the  eyes  and  quite  old.  Carrie  noticed 
this,  and  it  did  not  appeal  to  her.  She  wanted  to  be 
good-natured  and  sympathetic,  but  something  about 
the  man  held  her  aloof. 

Toward  evening  he  looked  so  badly  in  the  weak  light 
that  she  suggested  he  go  to  bed. 

"  You'd  better  sleep  alone,"  she  said,  "  you'll  feel 
better.     I'll  open  your  bed  for  you  now." 

"  All  right,"  he  said. 


39Q 


SISTER  CARRIE 


As  she  did  all  these  things,  she  was  in  a  most  de- 
spondent state. 

"  What  a  life !     What  a  life !  "  was  her  one  thought. 

Once  during  the  day,  when  he  sat  near  the  radiator, 
hunched  up  and  reading,  she  passed  through,  and  see- 
ing him,  wrinkle !  her  brows.  In  the  front  room,  where 
it  was  not  so  warm,  she  sat  by  the  window  and  cried. 
This  was  the  life  cut  out  for  her,  was  it?  To  live  cooped 
up  in  a  small  flat  with  some  one  who  was  out  of  work, 
idle,  and  indifferent  to  her.  She  was  merely  a  servant 
to  him  now,  nothing  more. 

This  crying  made  her  eyes  red,  and  when,  in  prepar- 
ing his  bed,  she  lighted  the  gas,  and,  having  prepared 
it,  called  him  in,  he  noticed  the  fact. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  he  asked,  looking 
into  her  face.  His  voice  was  hoarse  and  his  unkempt 
head  only  added  to  its  grewsome  quality. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Carrie,  weakly. 

"  You've  been  crying,"  he  said. 

"  I  haven't,  either,"  she  answered. 

It  was  not  for  love  of  him,  that  he  knew. 

"  You  needn't  cry,"  he  said,  getting  into  bed. 
"  Things  will  come  out  all  right." 

In  a  day  or  two  he  was  up  again,  but  rough  weather 
holding,  he  stayed  in.  The  Italian  newsdealer  now  de- 
livered the  morning  papers,  and  these  he  read  assidu- 
ously. A  few  times  after  that  he  ventured  out,  but 
meeting  another  of  his  old-time  friends,  he  began  to  feel 
uneasy  sitting  about  hotel  corridors. 

Every  day  he  came  home  early,  and  at  last  made  no 
pretence  of  going  anywhere.  Winter  was  no  time  to 
look  for  anything. 

Naturally,  being  about  the  house,  he  noticed  the  way 
Carrie  did  things.  She  was  far  from  perfect  in  house- 
hold methods  and  economy,  and  her  little  deviations  on 


SISTER  CARRIE  39 1 

this  score  first  caught  his  eye.  Not,  however,  before 
her  regular  demand  for  her  allowance  became  a  griev- 
ous thing.  Sitting  around  as  he  did,  the  weeks  seemed 
to  pass  very  quickly.  Every  Tuesday  Carrie  asked  for 
her  money. 

"  Do  you  think  we  live  as  cheaply  as  we  might?  "  he 
asked  one  Tuesday  morning. 

"  I  do  the  best  I  can,"  said  Carrie. 

Nothing  was  added  to  this  at  the  moment,  but  the 
next  day  he  said : 

"  Do  you  ever  go  to  the  Gansevoort  Market  over 
here?" 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  market,"  said  Carrie. 

"  They  say  you  can  get  things  lots  cheaper  there." 

Carrie  was  very  indifferent  to  the  suggestion.  These 
were  things  which  she  did  not  like  at  all. 

"  How  much  do  you  pay  for  a  pound  of  meat?  "  he 
asked  one  day. 

"  Oh,  there  are  different  prices,"  said  Carrie.  "  Sir- 
loin steak  is  twenty-two  cents." 

"  That's  steep,  isn't  it?  "  he  answered. 

So  he  asked  about  other  things,  until  finally,  with  the 
passing  days,  it  seemed  to  become  a  mania  with  him. 
He  learned  the  prices  and  remembered  them. 

His  errand-running  capacity  also  improved.  It  be- 
gan in  a  small  way,  of  course.  Carrie,  going  to  get  her 
hat  one  morning,  was  stopped  by  him. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Carrie?  "  he  asked. 

"  Over  to  the  baker's,"  she  answered. 

"  I'd  just  as  leave  go  for  you,"  he  said. 

She  acquiesced,  and  he  went.  Each  afternoon  he 
would  go  to  the  corner  for  the  papers. 

"  Is  there  anything  you  want?  "  he  would  say. 

By  degrees  she  began  to  use  him.  Doing  this,  how- 
ever, she  lost  the  weekly  payment  of  twelve  dollars. 


392  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  You  want  to  pay  me  to-day,"  she  said  one  Tuesday, 
about  this  time. 

"  How  much  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  understood  well  enough  what  it  meant. 

"  Well,  about  five  dollars,"  she  answered.  "  I  owe 
the  coal  man." 

The  same  day  he  said : 

"  I  think  this  Italian  up  here  on  the  corner  sells  coal 
at  twenty-five  cents  a  bushel.     I'll  trade  with  him." 

Carrie  heard  this  with  indifference. 

"  All  right,"  she  said. 

Then  it  came  to  be : 

"  George,  I  must  have  some  coal  to-day,"  or,  "  You 
must  get  some  meat  of  some  kind  for  dinner." 

He  would  find  out  what  she  needed  and  order. 

Accompanying  this  plan  came  skimpiness. 

"  I  only  got  a  half-pound  of  steak,"  he  said,  coming 
in  one  afternoon  with  his  papers.  "  We  never  seem  to 
eat  very  much." 

These  miserable  details  ate  the  heart  out  of  Carrie. 
They  blackened  her  days  and  grieved  her  soul.  Oh, 
how  this  man  had  changed  !  All  day  and  all  day,  here  he 
sat,  reading  his  papers.  The  world  seemed  to  have  no 
attraction.  Once  in  a  while  he  would  go  out,  in  fine 
weather,  it  might  be  four  or  five  hours,  between  eleven 
and  four.  She  could  do  nothing  but  view  him  with 
gnawing  contempt. 

It  was  apathy  with  Hurstwood,  resulting  from  his 
inability  to  see  his  way  out.  Each  month  drew  from 
his  small  store.  Now,  he  had  only  five  hundred  dol- 
lars left,  and  this  he  hugged,  half  feeling  as  if  he  could 
stave  off  absolute  necessity  for  an  indefinite  period. 
Sitting  around  the  house,  he  decided  to  wear  some  old 
clothes  he  had.  This  came  first  with  the  bad  days. 
Only  once  he  apologised  in  the  very  beginning: 


SISTER  CARRIE 


393 


"  It's  so  bad  to-day,  I'll  just  wear  these  around." 

Eventually  these  became  the  permanent  thing. 

Also,  he  had  been  wont  to  pay  fifteen  cents  for  a 
shave,  and  a  tip  of  ten  cents.  In  his  first  distress,  he 
cut  down  the  tip  to  five,  then  to  nothing.  Later,  he 
tried  a  ten-cent  barber  shop,  and,  finding  that  the  shave 
was  satisfactory,  patronised  regularly.  Later  still,  he 
put  off  shaving  to  every  other  day,  then  to  every  third, 
and  so  on,  until  once  a  week  became  the  rule.  On 
Saturday  he  was  a  sight  to  see. 

Of  course,  as  his  own  self-respect  vanished,  it  per- 
ished for  him  in  Carrie.  She  could  not  understand 
what  had  gotten  into  the  man.  He  had  some  money, 
he  had  a  decent  suit  remaining,  he  was  not  bad  looking 
when  dressed  up.  She  did  not  forget  her  own  difficult 
struggle  in  Chicago,  but  she  did  not  forget  either  that 
she  had  never  ceased  trying.  He  never  tried.  He  did 
not  even  consult  the  ads.  in  the  papers  any  more. 

Finally,  a  distinct  impression  escaped  from  her. 

"  What  makes  you  put  so  much  butter  on  the  steak  ?  " 
he  asked  her  one  evening,  standing  around  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  To  make  it  good,  of  course,"  she  answered. 

"  Butter  is  awful  dear  these  days,"  he  suggested. 

"  You  wouldn't  mind  it  if  you  were  working,"  she 
answered. 

He  shut  up  after  this,  and  went  in  to  his  paper,  but 
the  retort  rankled  in  his  mind.  It  was  the  first  cutting 
remark  that  had  come  from  her. 

That  same  evening,  Carrie,  after  reading,  went  off 
to  the  front  room  to  bed.  This  was  unusual.  When 
Hurstwood  decided  to  go,  he  retired,  as  usual,  without 
a  light.  It  was  then  that  he  discovered  Carrie's 
absence. 

"  That's  funny,"  he  said ;  "  maybe  she's  sitting  up." 


394  SISTER  CARRIE 

He  gave  the  matter  no  more  thought,  but  slept.  In 
the  morning  she  was  not  beside  him.  Strange  to  say, 
this  passed  without  comment. 

Night  approaching,  and  a  slightly  more  conversa- 
tional feeling  prevailing,  Carrie  said : 

"  I  think  I'll  sleep  alone  to-night.  I  have  a  head- 
ache." 

"  All  right,"  said  Hurstwood. 

The  third  night  she  went  to  her  front  bed  without 
apologies. 

This  was  a  grim  blow  to  Hurstwood,  but  he  never 
mentioned  it. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  an  irrepressible 
frown,  "  let  her  sleep  alone." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  GRIM  retrogression:  the  phantom  of  chance 

The  Varices,  who  had  been  back  in  the  city  ever  since 
Christmas,  had  not  forgotten  Carrie ;  but  they,  or  rather 
Mrs.  Vance,  had  never  called  on  her,  for  the  very  sim- 
ple reason  that  Carrie  had  never  sent  her  address.  True 
to  her  nature,  she  corresponded  with  Mrs.  Vance  as 
long  as  she  still  lived  in  Seventy-eighth  Street,  but 
when  she  was  compelled  to  move  into  Thirteenth,  her 
fear  that  the  latter  would  take  it  as  an  indication  of  re- 
duced circumstances  caused  her  to  study  some  way  of 
avoiding  the  necessity  of  giving  her  address.  Not  find- 
ing any  convenient  method,  she  sorrowfully  resigned 
the  privilege  of  writing  to  her  friend  entirely.  The  lat- 
ter wondered  at  this  strange  silence,  thought  Carrie 
must  have  left  the  city,  and  in  the  end  gave  her  up  as 
lost.  So  she  was  thoroughly  surprised  to  encounter 
her  in  Fourteenth  Street,  where  she  had  gone  shopping. 
Carrie  was  there  for  the  same  purpose. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Wheeler,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  looking 
Carrie  over  in  a  glance,  "  where  have  you  been?  Why 
haven't  you  been  to  see  me?  I've  been  wondering  all 
this  time  what  had  become  of  you.     Really,  I " 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Carrie,  pleased  and 
yet  nonplussed.  Of  all  times,  this  was  the  worst  to 
encounter  Mrs.  Vance.  "  Why,  I'm  living  down  town 
here.  I've  been  intending  to  come  and  see  you.  Where 
are  you  living  now?  " 


396  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  In  Fifty-eighth  Street,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  "just  off 
Seventh  Avenue — 218.  Why  don't  you  come  and  see 
me?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Carrie.  "  Really,  I've  been  wanting  to 
come.  I  know  I  ought  to.  It's  a  shame.  But  you 
know " 

"  What's  your  number?  "  said  Mrs.  Vance. 

"Thirteenth  Street,"  said  Carrie,  reluctantly.  "  112 
West." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  "  that's  right  near  here,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie.  "  You  must  come  down  and  see 
me  some  time." 

"  Well,  you're  a  fine  one,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  laughing, 
the  while  noting  that  Carrie's  appearance  had  modified 
somewhat.  "  The  address,  too,"  she  added  to  herself. 
"  They  must  be  hard  up." 

Still  she  liked  Carrie  well  enough  to  take  her  in  tow. 

"  Come  with  me  in  here  a  minute,"  she  exclaimed, 
turning  into  a  store. 

When  Carrie  returned  home,  there  was  Hurstwood, 
reading  as  usual.  He  seemed  to  take  his  condition 
with  the  utmost  nonchalance.  His  beard  was  at  least 
four  days  old. 

"  Oh,"  thought  Carrie,  "  if  she  were  to  come  here  and 
see  him  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  in  absolute  misery.  It  looked  as 
if  her  situation  was  becoming  unbearable. 

Driven  to  desperation,  she  asked  at  dinner : 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  any  more  from  that  wholesale 
house? " 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  They  don't  want  an  inexperienced 
man." 

Carrie  dropped  the  subject,  feeling  unable  to  say 
more. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


397 


"  I  met  Mrs.  Vance  this  afternoon,"  she  said,  after  a 
time. 
• "  Did,  eh  ?  "  he  answered. 

"  They're  back  in  New  York  now,"  Carrie  went  on. 
"  She  did  look  so  nice." 

"  Well,  she  can  afford  it  as  long  as  he  puts  up  for  it," 
returned  Hurstwood.     "  He's  got  a  soft  job." 

Hurstwood  was  looking  into  the  paper.  He  could 
not  see  the  look  of  infinite  weariness  and  discontent 
Carrie  gave  him. 

"  She  said  she  thought  she'd  call  here  some  day." 

"  She's  been  long  getting  round  to  it,  hasn't  she?" 
said  Hurstwood,  with  a  kind  of  sarcasm. 

The  woman  didn't  appeal  to  him  from  her  spending 
side. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie,  angered  by  the 
man's  attitude.  "  Perhaps  I  didn't  want  her  to 
come." 

"  She's  too  gay,"  said  Hurstwood,  significantly.  "  No 
one  can  keep  up  with  her  pace  unless  they've  got  a  lot 
of  money." 

"  Mr.  Vance  doesn't  seem  to  find  it  very  hard." 

"  He  may  not  now,"  answered  Hurstwood,  doggedly, 
well  understanding  the  inference ;  "  but  his  life  isn't 
done  yet.  You  can't  tell  what'll  happen.  He  may  get 
down  like  anybody  else." 

There  was  something  quite  knavish  in  the  man's  atti- 
tude. His  eye  seemed  to  be  cocked  with  a  twinkle  upon 
the  fortunate,  expecting  their  defeat.  His  own  state 
seemed  a  thing  apart — not  considered. 

This  thing  was  the  remains  of  his  old-time  cocksure- 
ness  and  independence.  Sitting  in  his  flat,  and  read- 
ing of  the  doings  of  other  people,  sometimes  this  inde- 
pendent, undefeated  mood  came  upon  him.  Forgetting 
the  weariness  of  the  streets  and  the  degradation  of 


398  SISTER  CARRIE 

search,  he  would  sometimes  prick  up  his  ears.  It  was 
as  if  he  said : 

"  I  can  do  something.  I'm  not  down  yet.  There's 
a  lot  of  things  coming  to  me  if  I  want  to  go  after  them." 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  he  would  occasionally  dress 
up,  go  for  a  shave,  and,  putting  on  his  gloves,  sally  forth 
quite  actively.  Not  with  any  definite  aim.  It  was 
more  a  barometric  condition.  He  felt  just  right  for 
being  outside  and  doing  something. 

On  such  occasions,  his  money  went  also.  He  knew 
of  several  poker  rooms  down  town.  A  few  acquain- 
tances he  had  in  down-town  resorts  and  about  the  City 
Hall.  It  was  a  change  to  see  them  and  exchange  a  few 
friendly  commonplaces. 

He  had  once  been  accustomed  to  hold  a  pretty  fair 
hand  at  poker.  Many  a  friendly  game  had  netted  him 
a  hundred  dollars  or  more  at  the  time  when  that  sum 
was  merely  sauce  to  the  dish  of  the  game — not  the  all 
in  all.     Now,  he  thought  of  playing. 

"  I  might  win  a  couple  of  hundred.  I'm  not  out  of 
practice." 

It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  this  thought  had  occurred 
to  him  several  times  before  he  acted  upon  it. 

The  poker  room  which  he  first  invaded  was  over  a 
saloon  in  West  Street,  near  one  of  the  ferries.  He  had 
been  there  before.  Several  games  were  going.  These 
he  watched  for  a  time  and  noticed  that  the  pots  were 
quite  large  for  the  ante  involved. 

"  Deal  me  a  hand,"  he  said  at  the  beginning  of  a  new 
shuffle.  He  pulled  up  a  chair  and  studied  his  cards. 
Those  playing  made  that  quiet  study  of  him  which  is 
so  unapparent,  and  yet  invariably  so  searching. 

Poor  fortune  was  with  him  at  first.  He  received  a 
mixed  collection  without  progression  or  pairs.  The 
pot  was  opened. 


SISTER  CARRIE  399 

"  I  pass,"  he  said. 

On  the  strength  of  this,  he  was  content  to  lose  his 
ante.  The  deals  did  fairly  by  him  in  the  long  run,  caus- 
ing him  to  come  away  with  a  few  dollars  to  the  good. 

The  next  afternoon  he  was  back  again,  seeking 
amusement  and  profit.  This  time  he  followed  up  three 
of  a  kind  to  his  doom.  There  was  a  better  hand  across 
the  table,  held  by  a  pugnacious  Irish  youth,  who  was 
a  political  hanger-on  of  the  Tammany  district  in  which 
they  were  located.  Hurstwood  was  surprised  at  the 
persistence  of  this  individual,  whose  bets  came  with  a 
sang-froid  which,  if  a  bluff,  was  excellent  art.  Hurst- 
wood began  to  doubt,  but  kept,  or  thought  to  keep,  at 
least,  the  cool  demeanour  with  which,  in  olden  times, 
he  deceived  those  psychic  students  of  the  gaming  table, 
who  seem  to  read  thoughts  and  moods,  rather  than  ex- 
terior evidences,  however  subtle.  He  could  not  down 
the  cowardly  thought  that  this  man  had  something  bet- 
ter and  would  stay  to  the  end,  drawing  his  last  dollar 
into  the  pot,  should  he  choose  to  go  so  far.  Still,  he 
hoped  to  win  much — his  hand  was  excellent.  Why  not 
raise  it  five  more? 

"  I  raise  you  three,"  said  the  youth. 

"  Make  it  five,"  said  Hurstwood,  pushing  out  his  chips. 

"  Come  again,"  said  the  youth,  pushing  out  a  small 
pile  of  reds. 

"  Let  me  have  some  more  chips,"  said  Hurstwood  to 
the  keeper  in  charge,  taking  out  a  bill. 

A  cynical  grin  lit  up  the  face  of  his  youthful  oppo- 
nent. When  the  chips  were  laid  out,  Hurstwood  met 
the  raise. 

■"  Five  again,"  said  the  youth. 

Hurstwood's  brow  was  wet.  He  was  deep  in  now 
— very  deep  for  him.  Sixty  dollars  of  his  good  money 
was  up.     He  was  ordinarily  no  coward,  but  the  thought 


400  SISTER  CARRIE 

of  losing  so  much  weakened  him.  Finally  he  gave  way. 
He  would  not  trust  to  this  fine  hand  any  longer. 

"  I  call,"  he  said. 

"  A  full  house !  "  said  the  youth,  spreading  out  his 
cards. 

Hurstwood's  hand  dropped. 

"  I  thought  I  had  you,"  he  said,  weakly. 

The  youth  raked  in  his  chips,  and  Hurstwood  came 
away,  not  without  first  stopping  to  count  his  remaining 
cash  on  the  stair. 

"  Three  hundred  and  forty  dollars,"  he  said. 

With  this  loss  and  ordinary  expenses,  so  much  had 
already  gone. 

Back  in  the  flat,  he  decided  he  would  play  no  more. 

Remembering  Mrs.  Vance's  promise  to  call,  Carrie 
made  one  other  mild  protest.  It  was  concerning  Hurst- 
wood's appearance.  This  very  day,  coming  home,  he 
changed  his  clothes  to  the  old  togs  he  sat  around  in. 

"  What  makes  you  always  put  on  those  old  clothes  ?  " 
asked  Carrie. 

"  What's  the  use  wearing  my  good  ones  around 
here?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I  should  think  you'd  feel  better."  Then  she 
added :  "  Some  one  might  call." 

"Who?"  he  said. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Vance,"  said  Carrie. 

"  She  needn't  see  me,"  he  answered,  sullenly. 

This  lack  of  pride  and  interest  made  Carrie  almost 
hate  him. 

"  Oh,"  she  thought,  "  there  he  sits.  '  She  needn't  see 
me.'     I  should  think  he  would  be  ashamed  of  himself." 

The  real  bitterness  of  this  thing  was  added  when 
Mrs.  Vance  did  call.  It  was  on  one  of  her  shopping 
rounds.  Making  her  way  up  the  commonplace  hall, 
she  knocked  at  Carrie's  door.     To  her  subsequent  and 


SISTER  CARRIE 


401 


agonising  distress,  Carrie  was  out.  Hurstwood  opened 
the  door,  half-thinking  that  the  knock  was  Carrie's. 
For  once,  he  was  taken  honestly  aback.  The  lost  voice 
of  youth  and  pride  spoke  in  him. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  actually  stammering,  "  how  do  you 
do?" 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  who  could 
scarcely  believe  her  eyes.  His  great  confusion  she  in- 
stantly perceived.  He  did  not  know  whether  to  invite 
her  in  or  not. 

"  Is  your  wife  at  home?  "  she  inquired. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  Carrie's  out;  but  won't  you  step  in? 
She'll  be  back  shortly." 

"  No-o,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  realising  the  change  of  it 
all.  "  I'm  really  very  much  in  a  hurry.  I  thought  I'd 
just  run  up  and  look  in,  but  I  couldn't  stay.  Just  tell 
your  wife  she  must  come  and  see  me." 

"  I  will,"  said  Hurstwood,  standing  back,  and  feeling 
intense  relief  at  her  going.  He  was  so  ashamed  that  he 
folded  his  hands  weakly,  as  he  sat  in  the  chair  after- 
wards, and  thought. 

Carrie,  coming  in  from  another  direction,  thought  she 
saw  Mrs.  Vance  going  away.  She  strained  her  eyes, 
but  could  not  make  sure. 

"  Was  anybody  here  just  now?  "  she  asked  of  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  guiltily ;  "  Mrs.  Vance." 

"  Did  she  see  you  ?  "  she  asked,  expressing  her  full 
despair. 

This  cut  Hurstwood  like  a  whip,  and  made  him 
sullen. 

"  If  she  had  eyes,  she  did.     I  opened  the  door." 

"  Oh,"  said  Carrie,  closing  one  hand  tightly  out  of 
sheer  nervousness.     "  What  did  she  have  to  say?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered.     "  She  couldn't  stay." 
26 


402  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  And  you  looking  like  that !  "  said  Carrie,  throwing 
aside  a  long  reserve. 

"  What  of  it?  "  he  said,  angering.  "  I  didn't  know  she 
was  coming,  did  I  ?  " 

"  You  knew  she  might,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  told  you  she 
said  she  was  coming.  I've  asked  you  a  dozen  times  to 
wear  your  other  clothes.  Oh,  I  think  this  is  just  ter- 
rible." 

"  Oh,  let  up,"  he  answered.  "  What  difference  does 
it  make?  You  couldn't  associate  with  her,  anyway. 
They've  got  too  much  money." 

"  Who  said  I  wanted  to  ?  "  said  Carrie,  fiercely. 

"  Well,  you  act  like  it,  rowing  around  over  my  looks. 
You'd  think  I'd  committed " 

Carrie  interrupted : 

"  It's  true,"  she  said.  "  I  couldn't  if  I  wanted  to,  but 
whose  fault  is  it  ?  You're  very  free  to  sit  and  talk  about 
who  I  could  associate  with.  Why  don't  you  get  out 
and  look  for  work  ?  " 

This  was  a  thunderbolt  in  camp. 

"  What's  it  to  you?  "  he  said,  rising,  almost  fiercely. 
"  I  pay  the  rent,  don't  I  ?     I  furnish  the " 

"  Yes,  you  pay  the  rent,"  said  Carrie.  "  You  talk  as 
if  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  but  a  flat  to  sit 
around  in.  You  haven't  done  a  thing  for  three  months 
except  sit  around  and  interfere  here.  I'd  like  to  know 
what  you  married  me  for?  " 

"  I  didn't  marry  you,"  he  said,  in  a  snarling  tone. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  did,  then,  in  Montreal  ?  " 
she  answered. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  marry  you,"  he  answered.  "  You  can 
get  that  out  of  your  head.  You  talk  as  though  you 
didn't  know." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  a  moment,  her  eyes  distending. 
She  had  believed  it  was  all  legal  and  binding  enough. 


SISTER  CARRIE  403 

"  What  did  you  lie  to  me  for,  then  ? "  she  asked, 
fiercely.  "  What  did  you  force  me  to  run  away  with 
you  for  ?  " 

Her  voice  became  almost  a  sob. 

"  Force !  "  he  said,  with  curled  lip.  "  A  lot  of  forc- 
ing I  did." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Carrie,  breaking  under  the  strain,  and 
turning.  "  Oh,  oh ! "  and  she  hurried  into  the  front 
room. 

Hurstwood  was  now  hot  and  waked  up.  It  was  a 
great  shaking  up  for  him,  both  mental  and  moral.  He 
wiped  his  brow  as  he  looked  around,  and  then  went  for 
his  clothes  and  dressed.  Not  a  sound  came  from  Car- 
rie; she  ceased  sobbing  when  she  heard  him  dressing. 
She  thought,  at  first,  with  the  faintest  alarm,  of  being 
left  without  money — not  of  losing  him,  though  he 
might  be  going  away  permanently.  She  heard  him 
open  the  top  of  the  wardrobe  and  take  out  his  hat.  Then 
the  dining-room  door  closed,  and  she  knew  he  had  gone. 

After  a  few  moments  of  silence,  she  stood  up,  dry- 
eyed,  and  looked  out  the  window.  Hurstwood  was 
just  strolling  up  the  street,  from  the  flat,  toward  Sixth 
Avenue. 

The  latter  made  progress  along  Thirteenth  and 
across  Fourteenth  Street  to  Union  Square. 

"  Look  for  work !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  Look  for 
work !     She  tells  me  to  get  out  and  look  for  work." 

He  tried  to  shield  himself  from  his  own  mental  accu- 
sation, which  told  him  that  she  was  right. 

"What  a  cursed  thing  that  Mrs.  Vance's  call  was, 
anyhow,"  he  thought.  "  Stood  right  there,  and  looked 
me  over.     I  know  what  she  was  thinking." 

He  remembered  the  few  times  he  had  seen  her  in 
Seventy-eighth  Street.  She  was  always  a  swell-looker, 
and  he  had  tried  to  put  on  the  air  of  being  worthy  of 


404 


SISTER  CARRIE 


such  as  she,  in  front  of  her.  Now,  to  think  she  had 
caught  him  looking  this  way.  He  wrinkled  his  fore- 
head in  his  distress. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  said  a  dozen  times  in  an  hour. 

It  was  a  quarter  after  four  when  he  left  the  house. 
Carrie  was  in  tears.  There  would  be  no  dinner  that 
night. 

"  What  the  deuce,"  he  said,  swaggering  mentally  to 
hide  his  own  shame  from  himself.  "  I'm  not  so  bad. 
I'm  not  down  yet." 

He  looked  around  the  square,  and  seeing  the  sev- 
eral large  hotels,  decided  to  go  to  one  for  dinner.  He 
would  get  his  papers  and  make  himself  comfortable 
there. 

He  ascended  into  the  fine  parlour  of  the  Morton 
House,  then  one  of  the  best  New  York  hotels,  and,  find- 
ing a  cushioned  seat,  read.  It  did  not  trouble  him  much 
that  his  decreasing  sum  of  money  did  not  allow  of  such 
extravagance.  Like  the  morphine  fiend,  he  was  be- 
coming addicted  to  his  ease.  Anything  to  relieve  his 
mental  distress,  to  satisfy  his  craving  for  comfort.  He 
must  do  it.  No  thoughts  for  the  morrow — he  could 
not  stand  to  think  of  it  any  more  than  he  could  of  any 
other  calamity.  Like  the  certainty  of  death,  he  tried 
to  shut  the  certainty  of  soon  being  without  a  dollar 
completely  out  of  his  mind,  and  he  came  very  near 
doing  it. 

Well-dressed  guests  moving  to  and  fro  over  the  thick 
carpets  carried  him  back  to  the  old  days.  A  young 
lady,  a  guest  of  the  house,  playing  a  piano  in  an  alcove 
pleased  him.     He  sat  there  reading. 

His  dinner  cost  him  $1.50.  By  eight  o'clock  he 
was  through,  and  then,  seeing  guests  leaving  and  the 
crowd  of  pleasure-seekers  thickening  outside,  won- 
dered where  he  should  go.     Not  home.     Carrie  would 


SISTER  CARRIE  405 

be  up.  No,  he  would  not  go  back  there  this  evening. 
He  would  stay  out  and  knock  around  as  a  man  who  was 
independent — not  broke — well  might.  He  bought  a 
cigar,  and  went  outside  on  the  corner  where  other  in- 
dividuals were  lounging — brokers,  racing  people,  thes- 
pians — his  own  flesh  and  blood.  As  he  stood  there,  he 
thought  of  the  old  evenings  in  Chicago,  and  how  he 
used  to  dispose  of  them.  Many's  the  game  he  had  had. 
This  took  him  to  poker. 

"  I  didn't  do  that  thing  right  the  other  day,"  he 
thought,  referring  to  his  loss  of  sixty  dollars.  "  I 
shouldn't  have  weakened.  I  could  have  bluffed  that 
fellow  down.     I  wasn't  in  form,  that's  what  ailed  me." 

Then  he  studied  the  possibilities  of  the  game  as  it  had 
been  played,  and  began  to  figure  how  he  might  have 
won,  in  several  instances,  by  bluffing  a  little  harder. 

"  I'm  old  enough  to  play  poker  and  do  something 
with  it.     I'll  try  my  hand  to-night." 

Visions  of  a  big  stake  floated  before  him.  Suppos- 
ing he  did  win  a  couple  of  hundred,  wouldn't  he  be  in 
it?  Lots  of  sports  he  knew  made  their  living  at  this 
game,  and  a  good  living,  too. 

"  They  always  had  as  much  as  I  had,"  he  thought. 

So  off  he  went  to  a  poker  room  in  the  neighbourhood, 
feeling  much  as  he  had  in  the  old  days.  In  this  period 
of  self-forgetfulness,  aroused  first  by  the  shock  of  argu- 
ment and  perfected  by  a  dinner  in  the  hotel,  with  cock- 
tails and  cigars,  he  was  as  nearly  like  the  old  Hurst- 
wood  as  he  would  ever  be  again.  It  was  not  the  old 
Hurstwood — only  a  man  arguing  with  a  divided  con- 
science and  lured  by  a  phantom. 

This  poker  room  was  much  like  the  other  one,  only 
it  was  a  back  room  in  a  better  drinking  resort.  Hurst- 
wood watched  a  while,  and  then,  seeing  an  interesting 
game,  joined  in.     As  before,  it  went  easy  for  a  while, 


4o6  SISTER  CARRIE 

he  winning  a  few  times  and  cheering  up,  losing  a  few 
pots  and  growing  more  interested  and  determined  on 
that  account.  At  last  the  fascinating  game  took  a 
strong  hold  on  him.  He  enjoyed  its  risks  and  ventured, 
on  a  trifling  hand,  to  bluff  the  company  and  secure  a 
fair  stake.  To  his  self-satisfaction  intense  and  strong, 
he  did  it. 

In  the  height  of  this  feeling  he  began  to  think  his 
luck  was  with  him.  No  one  else  had  done  so  well. 
Now  came  another  moderate  hand,  and  again  he  tried 
to  open  the  jack-pot  on  it.  There  were  others  there 
who  were  almost  reading  his  heart,  so  close  was  their 
observation. 

"  I  have  three  of  a  kind,"  said  one  of  the  players  to 
himself.     "  I'll  just  stay  with  that  fellow  to  the  finish." 

The  result  was  that  bidding  began. 

"  I  raise  you  ten." 

"  Good." 

"  Ten  more." 

"  Good." 

"  Ten  again." 

"  Right  you  are." 

It  got  to  where  Hurstwood  had  seventy-five  dollars 
up.  The  other  man  really  became  serious.  Perhaps 
this  individual  (Hurstwood)  really  did  have  a  stiff 
hand. 

"  I  call,"  he  said. 

Hurstwood  showed  his  hand.  He  was  done.  The 
bitter  fact  that  he  had  lost  seventy-five  dollars  made 
him  desperate. 

"  Let's  have  another  pot,"  he  said,  grimly. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  man. 

Some  of  the  other  players  quit,  but  observant  loung- 
ers took  their  places.  Time  passed,  and  it  came  to 
twelve  o'clock.     Hurstwood  held  on,  neither  winning 


SISTER  CARRIE  407 

nor  losing  much.  Then  he  grew  weary,  and  on  a  last 
hand  lost  twenty  more.     He  was  sick  at  heart. 

At  a  quarter  after  one  in  the  morning  he  came  out  of 
the  place.  The  chill,  bare  streets  seemed  a  mockery  of 
his  state.  He  walked  slowly  west,  little  thinking  of  his 
row  with  Carrie.  He  ascended  the  stairs  and  went 
into  his  room  as  if  there  had  been  no  trouble.  It  was 
his  loss  that  occupied  his  mind.  Sitting  down  on  the 
bedside  he  counted  his  money.  There  was  now  but  a 
hundred  and  ninety  dollars  and  some  change.  He  put 
it  up  and  began  to  undress. 

"  I  wonder  what's  getting  into  me,  anyhow?  "  he  said. 

In  the  morning  Carrie  scarcely  spoke,  and  he  felt  as 
if  he  must  go  out  again.  He  had  treated  her  badly,  but 
he  could  not  afford  to  make  up.  Now  desperation 
seized  him,  and  for  a  day  or  two,  going  out  thus,  he  lived 
like  a  gentleman — or  what  he  conceived  to  be  a  gentle- 
man— which  took  money.  For  his  escapades  he  was 
soon  poorer  in  mind  and  body,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
purse,  which  had  lost  thirty  by  the  process.  Then  he 
came  down  to  cold,  bitter  sense  again. 

"  The  rent  man  comes  to-day,"  said  Carrie,  greeting 
him  thus  indifferently  three  mornings  later. 

"He  does?" 

"  Yes ;  this  is  the  second,"  answered  Carrie. 

Hurstwood  frowned.  Then  in  despair  he  got  out 
his  purse. 

"  It  seems  an  awful  lot  to  pay  for  rent,"  he  said. 

He  was  nearing  his  last  hundred  dollars. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

THE  SPIRIT  AWAKENS  :   NEW   SEARCH   FOR  THE   GATE 

It  would  be  useless  to  explain  how  in  due  time  the 
last  fifty  dollars  was  in  sight.  The  seven  hundred,  by 
his  process  of  handling,  had  only  carried  them  into 
June.  Before  the  final  hundred  mark  was  reached  he 
began  to  indicate  that  a  calamity  was  approaching. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  one  day,  taking  a  trivial 
expenditure  for  meat  as  a  text,  "  it  seems  to  take  an 
awful  lot  for  us  to  live." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  me,"  said  Carrie,  "  that  we  spend 
very  much." 

"  My  money  is  nearly  gone,"  he  said,  "  and  I  hardly 
know  where  it's  gone  to." 

"  All  that  seven  hundred  dollars  ?  "  asked  Carrie. 

">  All  but  a  hundred." 

He  looked  so  disconsolate  that  it  scared  her.  She 
began  to  see  that  she  herself  had  been  drifting.  She 
had  felt  it  all  the  time. 

"  Well,  George,"  she  exclaimed,  "  why  don't  you  get 
out  and  look  for  something?  You  could  find  some- 
thing." 

"  I  have  looked,"  he  said.  "  You  can't  make  people 
give  you  a  place." 

She  gazed  weakly  at  him  and  said :  "  Well,  what  do 
you  think  you  will  do?  A  hundred  dollars  won't  last 
long." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  do  any  more  than 
look." 


SISTER  CARRIE 


409 


Carrie  became  frightened  over  this  announcement. 
She  thought  desperately  upon  the  subject.  Frequently 
she  had  considered  the  stage  as  a  door  through  which 
she  might  enter  that  gilded  state  which  she  had  so  much 
craved.  Now,  as  in  Chicago,  it  came  as  a  last  resource 
in  distress.  Something  must  be  done  if  he  did  not  get 
work  soon.  Perhaps  she  would  have  to  go  out  and 
battle  again  alone. 

She  began  to  wonder  how  one  would  go  about  get- 
ting a  place.  Her  experience  in  Chicago  proved  that 
she  had  not  tried  the  right  way.  There  must  be  people 
who  would  listen  to  and  try  you — men  who  would  give 
you  an  opportunity. 

They  were  talking  at  the  breakfast  table,  a  morning 
or  two  later,  when  she  brought  up  the  dramatic  sub- 
ject by  saying  that  she  saw  that  Sarah  Bernhardt 
was  coming  to  this  country.  Hurstwood  had  seen 
it,  too. 

"  How  do  people  get  on  the  stage,  George  ?  "  she 
finally  asked,  innocently. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  There  must  be  dramatic 
agents." 

Carrie  was  sipping  coffee,  and  did  not  look  up. 

"  Regular  people  who  get  you  a  place?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  he  answered. 

Suddenly  the  air  with  which  she  asked  attracted  his 
attention. 

"  You're  not  still  thinking  about  being  an  actress,  are 
you?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  was  just  wondering." 

Without  being  clear,  there  was  something  in  the 
thought  which  he  objected  to.  He  did  not  believe  any 
more,  after  three  years  of  observation,  that  Carrie  would 
ever  do  anything  great  in  that  line.  She  seemed  too 
simple,  too  yielding.     His  idea  of  the  art  was  that  it 


410  SISTER  CARRIE 

involved  something  more  pompous.  If  she  tried  to 
get  on  the  stage  she  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  some 
cheap  manager  and  become  like  the  rest  of  them.  He 
had  a  good  idea  of  what  he  meant  by  them.  Carrie  was 
pretty.  She  would  get  along  all  right,  but  where  would 
he  be? 

"  I'd  get  that  idea  out  of  my  head,  if  I  were  you.  It's 
a  lot  more  difficult  than  you  think." 

Carrie  felt  this  to  contain,  in  some  way,  an  aspersion 
upon  her  ability. 

"  You  said  I  did  real  well  in  Chicago,"  she  rejoined. 

"  You  did,"  he  answered,  seeing  that  he  was  arousing 
opposition,  "  but  Chicago  isn't  New  York,  by  a  big 
jump." 

Carrie  did  not  answer  this  at  all.     It  hurt  her. 

"  The  stage,"  he  went  on,  "  is  all  right  if  you  can  be 
one  of  the  big  guns,  but  there's  nothing  to  the  rest  of  it. 
It  takes  a  long  while  to  get  up." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie,  slightly  aroused. 

In  a  flash,  he  thought  he  foresaw  the  result  of  this 
thing.  Now,  when  the  worst  of  his  situation  was  ap- 
proaching, she  would  get  on  the  stage  in  some  cheap 
way  and  forsake  him.  Strangely,  he  had  not  conceived 
well  of  her  mental  ability.  That  was  because  he  did 
not  understand  the  nature  of  emotional  greatness.  He 
had  never  learned  that  a  person  might  be  emotionally — ' 
instead  of  intellectually — great.  Avery  Hall  was  too 
far  away  for  him  to  look  back  and  sharply  remember. 
He  had  lived  with  this  woman  too  long. 

"  Well,  I  do,"  he  answered.  "  If  I  were  you  I 
wouldn't  think  of  it.  It's  not  much  of  a  profession 
for  a  woman." 

"  It's  better  than  going  hungry,"  said  Carrie.  "  If 
you  don't  want  me  to  do  that,  why  don't  you  get  work 
yourself?  " 


SISTER  CARRIE  411 

There  was  no  answer  ready  for  this.  He  had  got 
used  to  the  suggestion. 

"  Oh,  let  up,"  he  answered. 

The  result  of  this  was  that  she  secretly  resolved  to 
try.  It  didn't  matter  about  him.  She  was  not  going 
to  be  dragged  into  poverty  and  something  worse  to 
suit  him.  She  could  act.  She  could  get  something 
and  then  work  up.  What  would  he  say  then?  She 
pictured  herself  already  appearing  in  some  fine  per- 
formance on  Broadway ;  of  going  every  evening  to  her 
dressing-room  and  making  up.  Then  she  would  come 
out  at  eleven  o'clock  and  see  the  carriages  ranged  about, 
waiting  for  the  people.  It  did  not  matter  whether  she 
was  the  star  or  not.  If  she  were  only  once  in,  getting  a 
decent  salary,  wearing  the  kind  of  clothes  she  liked, 
having  the  money  to  do  with,  going  here  and  there  as 
she  pleased,  how  delightful  it  would  all  be.  Her  mind 
ran  over  this  picture  all  the  day  long.  Hurstwood's 
dreary  state  made  its  beauty  become  more  and  more 
vivid. 

Curiously  this  idea  soon  took  hold  of  Hurstwood. 
His  vanishing  sum  suggested  that  he  would  need  sus- 
tenance. Why  could  not  Carrie  assist  him  a  little  until 
he  could  get  something? 

He  came  in  one  day  with  something  of  this  idea  in  his 
mind. 

"  I  met  John  B.  Drake  to-day,"  he  said.  "  He's  going 
to  open  a  hotel  here  in  the  fall.  He  says  that  he  can 
make  a  place  for  me  then." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Carrie. 

"  He's  the  man  that  runs  the  Grand  Pacific  in 
Chicago." 

"  Oh,"  said  Carrie. 

"  I'd  get  about  fourteen  hundred  a  year  out  of 
that." 


412  SISTER  CARRIE 

"That  would  be  good,  wouldn't  it?  "  she  said,  sym- 
pathetically. 

"  If  I  can  only  get  over  this  summer,"  he  added,  "  I 
think  I'll  be  all  right.  I'm  hearing  from  some  of  my 
friends  again." 

Carrie  swallowed  this  story  in  all  its  pristine  beauty. 
She  sincerely  wished  he  could  get  through  the  summer. 
He  looked  so  hopeless. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  left?  " 

"  Only  fifty  dollars." 

"Oh,  mercy,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  will  we  do? 
It's  only  twenty  days  until  the  rent  will  be  due  again." 

Hurstwood  rested  his  head  on  his  hands  and  looked 
blankly  at  the  floor. 

"  Maybe  you  could  get  something  in  the  stage  line?  " 
he  blandly  suggested. 

"  Maybe  I  could,"  said  Carrie,  glad  that  some  one 
approved  of  the  idea. 

"  I'll  lay  my  hand  to  whatever  I  can  get,"  he  said, 
now  that  he  saw  her  brighten  up.  "  I  can  get  some- 
thing." 

She  cleaned  up  the  things  one  morning  after  he  had 
gone,  dressed  as  neatly  as  her  wardrobe  permitted,  and 
set  out  for  Broadway.  She  did  not  know  that  thorough- 
fare very  well.  To  her  it  was  a  wonderful  conglomera- 
tion of  everything  great  and  mighty.  The  theatres  were 
there — these  agencies  must  be  somewhere  about. 

She  decided  to  stop  in  at  the  Madison  Square  Theatre 
and  ask  how  to  find  the  theatrical  agents.  This  seemed 
the  sensible  way.  Accordingly,  when  she  reached  that 
theatre  she  applied  to  the  clerk  at  the  box  office. 

"  Eh?  "  he  said,  looking  out.  "  Dramatic  agents?  I 
don't  know.  You'll  find  them  in  the  '  Clipper,'  though. 
They  all  advertise  in  that." 

"  Is  that  a  paper  ?  "  said  Carrie. 


SISTER  CARRIE  413 

"  Yes,"  said  the  clerk,  marvelling  at  such  ignorance 
of  a  common  fact.  "  You  can  get  it  at  the  news-stands," 
he  added  politely,  seeing  how  pretty  the  inquirer 
was. 

Carrie  proceeded  to  get  the  "  Clipper,"  and  tried  to 
find  the  agents  by  looking  over  it  as  she  stood  beside  the 
stand.  This  could  not  be  done  so  easily.  Thirteenth 
Street  was  a  number  of  blocks  off,  but  she  went  back, 
carrying  the  precious  paper  and  regretting  the  waste 
of  time. 

Hurstwood  was  already  there,  sitting  in  his  place. 

"  Where  were  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  find  some  dramatic  agents." 

He  felt  a  little  diffident  about  asking  concerning  her 
success.  The  paper  she  began  to  scan  attracted  his 
attention. 

"  What  have  you  got  there?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  i  Clipper.'  The  man  said  I'd  find  their  ad- 
dresses in  here." 

"  Have  you  been  all  the  way  over  to  Broadway  to 
find  that  out?     I  could  have  told  you." 

"Why  didn't  you?"  she  asked,  without  looking  up. 

"  You  never  asked  me,"  he  returned. 

She  went  hunting  aimlessly  through  the  crowded 
columns.  Her  mind  was  distracted  by  this  man's  in- 
difference. The  difficulty  of  the  situation  she  was  fac- 
ing was  only  added  to  by  all  he  did.  Self-commisera- 
tion brewed  in  her  heart.  Tears  trembled  along  her 
eyelids  but  did  not  fall.    Hurstwood  noticed  something. 

"Let  me  look." 

To  recover  herself  she  went  into  the  front  room 
while  he  searched.  Presently  she  returned.  He  had 
a  pencil,  and  was  writing  upon  an  envelope. 

"  Here  're  three,"  he  said. 

Carrie  took  it  and  found  that  one  was  Mrs.  Bermudez, 


414  SISTER  CARRIE 

another  Marcus  Jenks,  a  third  Percy  Weil.  She  paused 
only  a  moment,  and  then  moved  toward  the  door. 

"  I  might  as  well  go  right  away,"  she  said,  without 
looking  back. 

Hurstwood  saw  her  depart  with  some  faint  stirrings 
of  shame,  which  were  the  expression  of  a  manhood 
rapidly  becoming  stultified.  He  sat  a  while,  and  then 
it  became  too  much.     He  got  up  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  out,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  went, 
strolling  nowhere  in  particular,  but  feeling  somehow 
that  he  must  go. 

Carrie's  first  call  was  upon  Mrs.  Bermudez,  whose 
address  was  quite  the  nearest.  It  was  an  old-fashioned 
residence  turned  into  offices.  Mrs.  Bermudez's  offices 
consisted  of  what  formerly  had  been  a  back  chamber 
and  a  hall  bedroom,  marked  "  Private." 

As  Carrie  entered  she  noticed  several  persons  loung- 
ing about — men,  who  said  nothing  and  did  nothing. 

While  she  was  waiting  to  be  noticed,  the  door  of  the 
hall  bedroom  opened  and  from  it  issued  two  very  man- 
nish-looking women,  very  tightly  dressed,  and  wearing 
white  collars  and  cuffs.  After  them  came  a  portly  lady 
of  about  forty-five,  light-haired,  sharp-eyed,  and  evi- 
dently good-natured.     At  least  she  was  smiling. 

"  Now,  don't  forget  about  that,"  said  one  of  the  man- 
nish women. 

"  I  won't,"  said  the  portly  woman.  "  Let's  see,"  she 
added,  "  where  are  you  the  first  week  in  February?  " 

"  Pittsburg,"  said  the  woman. 

"  I'll  write  you  there:" 

"  All  right,"  said  the  other,  and  the  two  passed 
out. 

Instantly  the  portly  lady's  face  became  exceedingly 
sober  and  shrewd.  She  turned  about  and  fixed  on 
Carrie  a  very  searching  eye. 


SISTER  CARRIE  415 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  young  woman,  what  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"Are  you  Mrs.  Bermudez?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,"  said  Carrie,  hesitating  how  to  begin,  "  do 
you  get  places  for  persons  upon  the  stage  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Could  you  get  me  one?  " 

"  Have  you  ever  had  any  experience  ?  " 

"  A  very  little,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Whom  did  you  play  with?  " 

"  Oh,  with  no  one,"  said  Carrie.  "  It  was  just  a 
show  gotten " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  the  woman,  interrupting  her.  "  No, 
I  don't  know  of  anything  now." 

Carrie's  countenance  fell. 

"  You  want  to  get  some  New  York  experience,"  con- 
cluded the  affable  Mrs.  Bermudez.  "  We'll  take  your 
name,  though." 

Carrie  stood  looking  while  the  lady  retired  to  her 
office. 

"  What  is  your  address  ? "  inquired  a  young  lady 
behind  the  counter,  taking  up  the  curtailed  conver- 
sation. 

"  Mrs.  George  Wheeler,"  said  Carrie,  moving  over  to 
where  she  was  writing.  The  woman  wrote  her  ad- 
dress in  full  and  then  allowed  her  to  depart  at  her 
leisure. 

She  encountered  averysimilar  experience  in  the  office 
of  Mr.  Jenks,  only  he  varied  it  by  saying  at  the  close : 
"  If  you  could  play  at  some  local  house,  or  had  a 
programme  with  your  name  on  it,  I  might  do  some- 
thing." 

In  the  third  place  the  individual  asked : 

"  What  sort  of  work  do  you  want  to  do  ?  " 


4l6  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  do  you  want  to  get  in  a  comedy  or  on  the 
vaudeville  stage  or  in  the  chorus  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'd  like  to  get  a  part  in  a  play,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,"  said  the  man,  "  it'll  cost  you  something  to 
do  that." 

"  How  much?  "  said  Carrie,  who,  ridiculous  as  it  may 
seem,  had  not  thought  of  this  before. 

"  Well,  that's  for  you  to  say,"  he  answered  shrewdly. 

Carrie  looked  at  him  curiously.  She  hardly  knew 
how  to  continue  the  inquiry. 

"  Could  you  get  me  a  part  if  I  paid?  " 

"  If  we  didn't  you'd  get  your  money  back." 

"  Oh,"  she  said. 

The  agent  saw  he  was  dealing  with  an  inexperienced 
soul,  and  continued  accordingly. 

"  You'd  want  to  deposit  fifty  dollars,  any  way.  No 
agent  would  trouble  about  you  for  less  than  that." 

Carrie  saw  a  light. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.     "  I'll  think  about  it." 

She  started  to  go,  and  then  bethought  herself. 

"  How  soon  would  I  get  a  place?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  that's  hard  to  say,"  said  the  man.  "  You 
might  get  one  in  a  week,  or  it  might  be  a  month.  You'd 
get  the  first  thing  that  we  thought  you  could  do." 

"  I  see,"  said  Carrie,  and  then,  half-smiling  to  be 
agreeable,  she  walked  out. 

The  agent  studied  a  moment,  and  then  said  to  him- 
self: 

"  It's  funny  how  anxious  these  women  are  to  get  on 
the  stage." 

Carrie  found  ample  food  for  reflection  in  the  fifty- 
dollar  proposition.  "  Maybe  they'd  take  my  money  and 
not  give  me  anything,"  she  thought.  She  had  some  jew- 
elry— a  diamond  ring  and  pin  and  several  other  pieces. 


SISTER  CARRIE  417 

She  could  get  fifty  dollars  for  those  if  she  went  to  a 
pawnbroker. 

Hurstwood  was  home  before  her.  He  had  not 
thought  she  would  be  so  long  seeking. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said,  not  venturing  to  ask  what  news. 

"  I  didn't  find  out  anything  to-day,"  said  Carrie,  tak- 
ing off  her  gloves.  "  They  all  want  money  to  get  you 
a  place." 

"  How  much  ?  "  asked  Hurstwood. 

"  Fifty  dollars." 

"  They  don't  want  anything,  do  they?  " 

"  Oh,  they're  like  everybody  else.  You  can't  tell 
whether  they'd  ever  get  you  anything  after  you  did 
pay  them." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  put  up  fifty  on  that  basis,"  said 
Hurstwood,  as  if  he  were  deciding,  money  in  hand. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  think  I'll  try  some 
of  the  managers." 

Hurstwood  heard  this,  dead  to  the  horror  of  it.     He 
rocked  a  little  to  and  fro,  and  chewed  at  his  finger.     It 
seemed  all  very  natural  in  such  extreme  states.     He 
would  do  better  later  on. 
27 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

IN   ELF  LAND   DISPORTING:   THE  GRIM   WORLD  WITHOUT 

When  Carrie  renewed  her  search,  as  she  did  the  next 
day,  going  to  the  Casino,  she  found  that  in  the  opera 
chorus,  as  in  other  fields,  employment  is  difficult  to 
secure.  Girls  who  can  stand  in  a  line  and  look  pretty 
are  as  numerous  as  labourers  who  can  swing  a  pick. 
She  found  there  was  no  discrimination  between  one  and 
the  other  of  applicants,  save  as  regards  a  conventional 
standard  of  prettiness  and  form.  Their  own  opinion 
or  knowledge  of  their  ability  went  for  nothing. 

"  Where  shall  I  find  Mr.  Gray?  "  she  asked  of  a  sulky 
doorman  at  the  stage  entrance  of  the  Casino. 

"  You  can't  see  him  now ;  he's  busy." 

"  Do  you  know  when  I  can  see  him  ?  " 

"  Got  an  appointment  with  him  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  you'll  have  to  call  at  his  office." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  exclaimed  Carrie.  "  Where  is  his 
office?" 

He  gave  her  the  number. 

She  knew  there  was  no  need  of  calling  there  now. 
He  would  not  be  in.  Nothing  remained  but  to  employ 
the  intermediate  hours  in  search. 

The  dismal  story  of  ventures  in  other  places  is 
quickly  told.  Mr.  Daly  saw  no  one  save  by  appoint- 
ment. Carrie  waited  an  hour  in  a  dingy  office,  quite  in 
spite  of  obstacles,  to  learn  this  fact  of  the  placid,  in- 
different Mr.  Dorney. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


419 


"  You  will  have  to  write  and  ask  him  to  see  you." 

So  she  went  away. 

At  the  Empire  Theatre  she  found  a  hive  of  peculiarly 
listless  and  indifferent  individuals.  Everything  or- 
nately upholstered,  everything  carefully  finished,  every- 
thing remarkably  reserved. 

At  the  Lyceum  she  entered  one  of  those  secluded, 
under-stairway  closets,  berugged  and  bepanneled, 
which  causes  one  to  feel  the  greatness  of  all  positions 
of  authority.  Here  was  reserve  itself  done  into  a  box- 
office  clerk,  a  doorman,  and  an  assistant,  glorying  in 
their  fine  positions. 

"  Ah,  be  very  humble  now — very  humble  indeed. 
Tell  us  what  it  is  you  require.  Tell  it  quickly,  ner- 
vously, and  without  a  vestige  of  self-respect.  If  no 
trouble  to  us  in  any  way,  we  may  see  what  we  can  do." 

This  was  the  atmosphere  of  the  Lyceum — the  atti- 
tude, for  that  matter,  of  every  managerial  office  in  the 
city.  These  little  proprietors  of  businesses  are  lords 
indeed  on  their  own  ground. 

Carrie  came  away  wearily,  somewhat  more  abashed 
for  her  pains. 

Hurstwood  heard  the  details  of  the  weary  and  un- 
availing search  that  evening. 

"  I  didn't  get  to  see  any  one,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  just 
walked,  and  walked,  and  waited  around." 

Hurstwood  only  looked  at  her. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  to  have  some  friends  before 
you  can  get  in,"  she  added,  disconsolately. 

Hurstwood  saw  the  difficulty  of  this  thing,  and  yet 
it  did  not  seem  so  terrible.  Carrie  was  tired  and  dis- 
pirited, but  now  she  could  rest.  Viewing  the  world 
from  his  rocking-chair,  its  bitterness  did  not  seem  to 
approach  so  rapidly.     To-morrow  was  another  day. 

To-morrow  came,  and  the  next,  and  the  next. 


420  SISTER  CARRIE 

Carrie  saw  the  manager  at  the  Casino  once. 

"  Come  around,"  he  said,  "  the  first  of  next  week.  I 
may  make  some  changes  then." 

He  was  a  large  and  corpulent  individual,  surfeited 
with  good  clothes  and  good  eating,  who  judged  women 
as  another  would  horseflesh.  Carrie  was  pretty  and 
graceful.  She  might  be  put  in  even  if  she  did  not  have 
any  experience.  One  of  the  proprietors  had  suggested 
that  the  chorus  was  a  little  weak  on  looks. 

The  first  of  next  week  was  some  days  off  yet.  The 
first  of  the  month  was  drawing  near.  Carrie  began  to 
worry  as  she  had  never  worried  before. 

"  Do  you  really  look  for  anything  when  you  go  out  ?  " 
she  asked  Hurstwood  one  morning  as  a  climax  to  some 
painful  thoughts  of  her  own. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  he  said  pettishly,  troubling  only  a 
little  over  the  disgrace  of  the  insinuation. 

"  I'd  take  anything,"  she  said,  "  for  the  present.  It 
will  soon  be  the  first  of  the  month  again." 

She  looked  the  picture  of  despair. 

Hurstwood  quit  reading  his  paper  and  changed  his 
clothes. 

"  He  would  look  for  something,"  he  thought.  "  He 
would  go  and  see  if  some  brewery  couldn't  get  him  in 
somewhere.  Yes,  he  would  take  a  position  as  bar- 
tender, if  he  could  get  it." 

It  was  the  same  sort  of  pilgrimage  he  had  made  be- 
fore. One  or  two  slight  rebuffs,  and  the  bravado  dis- 
appeared. 

"  No  use,"  he  thought.  "  I  might  as  well  go  on  back 
home." 

Now  that  his  money  was  so  low,  he  began  to  observe 
his  clothes  and  feel  that  even  his  best  ones  were  begin- 
ning to  look  commonplace.     This  was  a  bitter  thought. 

Carrie  came  in  after  he  did. 


SISTER  CARRIE  421 

"  I  went  to  see  some  of  the  variety  managers,"  she 
said,  aimlessly.  "  You  have  to  have  an  act.  They 
don't  want  anybody  that  hasn't." 

"  I  saw  some  of  the  brewery  people  to-day,"  said 
Hurstwood.  "  One  man  told  me  he'd  try  to  make  a 
place  for  me  in  two  or  three  weeks." 

In  the  face  of  so  much  distress  on  Carrie's  part,  he 
had  to  make  some  showing,  and  it  was  thus  he  did  so. 
It  was  lassitude's  apology  to  energy. 

Monday  Carrie  went  again  to  the  Casino. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  to  come  around  to-day  ?  "  said  the 
manager,  looking  her  over  as  she  stood  before  him. 

"  You  said  the  first  of  the  week,"  said  Carrie,  greatly 
abashed. 

"  Ever  had  any  experience?  "  he  asked  again,  almost 
severely. 

Carrie  owned  to  ignorance. 

He  looked  her  over  again  as  he  stirred  among  some 
papers.  He  was  secretly  pleased  with  this  pretty,  dis- 
turbed-looking young  woman.  "  Come  around  to  the 
theatre  to-morrow  morning." 

Carrie's  heart  bounded  to  her  throat. 

"  I  will,"  she  said  with  difficulty.  She  could  see  he 
wanted  her,  and  turned  to  go. 

"  Would  he  really  put  her  to  work  ?  Oh,  blessed  for- 
tune, could  it  be?" 

Already  the  hard  rumble  of  the  city  through  the  open 
windows  became  pleasant. 

A  sharp  voice  answered  her  mental  interrogation, 
driving  away  all  immediate  fears  on  that  score. 

"  Be  sure  you're  there  promptly,"  the  manager  said 
roughly.     "  You'll  be  dropped  if  you're  not." 

Carrie  hastened  away.  She  did  not  quarrel  now  with 
Hurstwood's  idleness.  She  had  a  place — she  had  a 
place !     This  sang  in  her  ears. 


422  SISTER  CARRIE 

In  her  delight  she  was  almost  anxious  to  tell  Hurst- 
wood.  But,  as  she  walked  homeward,  and  her  survey 
of  the  facts  of  the  case  became  larger,  she  began  to 
think  of  the  anomaly  of  her  finding  work  in  several 
weeks  and  his  lounging  in  idleness  for  a  number  of 
months. 

"  Why  don't  he  get  something?  "  she  openly  said  to 
herself.  "  If  I  can  he  surely  ought  to.  It  wasn't  very 
hard  for  me." 

She  forgot  her  youth  and  her  beauty.  The  handicap 
of  age  she  did  not,  in  her  enthusiasm,  perceive. 

Thus,  ever,  the  voice  of  success. 

Still,  she  could  not  keep  her  secret.  She  tried  to  be 
calm  and  indifferent,  but  it  was  a  palpable  sham. 

"  Well?  "  he  said,  seeing  her  relieved  face. 

"  I  have  a  place." 

"  You  have?  "  he  said,  breathing  a  better  breath. 

"  Yes." 

"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  it?  "  he  asked,  feeling  in  his 
veins  as  if  now  he  might  get  something  good  also. 

"  In  the  chorus,"  she  answered. 

"  Is  it  the  Casino  show  you  told  me  about?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "I  begin  rehearsing  to- 
morrow." 

There  was  more  explanation  volunteered  by  Carrie, 
because  she  was  happy.     At  last  Hurstwood  said : 

"  Do  you  know  how  much  you'll  get?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't  want  to  ask,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  guess 
they  pay  twelve  or  fourteen  dollars  a  week." 

"  About  that,  I  guess,"  said  Hurstwood. 

There  was  a  good  dinner  in  the  flat  that  evening, 
owing  to  the  mere  lifting  of  the  terrible  strain.  Hurst- 
wood went  out  for  a  shave,  and  returned  with  a  fair- 
sized  sirloin  steak. 

"  Now,  to-morrow,"  he  thought,  "  I'll  look  around 


SISTER  CARRIE  423 

myself,"  and  with  renewed  hope  he  lifted  his  eyes  from 
the  ground. 

On  the  morrow  Carrie  reported  promptly  and  was 
given  a  place  in  the  line.  She  saw  a  large,  empty, 
shadowy  play-house,  still  redolent  of  the  perfumes  and 
blazonry  of  the  night,  and  notable  for  its  rich,  oriental 
appearance.  The  wonder  of  it  awed  and  delighted  her. 
Blessed  be  its  wondrous  reality.  How- hard  she  would 
try  to  be  worthy  of  it.  It  was  above  the  common  mass, 
above  idleness,  above  want,  above  insignificance. 
People  came  to  it  in  finery  and  carriages  to  see.  It 
was  ever  a  centre  of  light  and  mirth.  And  here  she 
was  of  it.  Oh,  if  she  could  only  remain,  how  happy 
would  be  her  days ! 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  said  the  manager,  who  was 
conducting  the  drill. 

"  Madenda,"  she  replied,  instantly  mindful  of  the 
name  Drouet  had  selected  in  Chicago.  "  Carrie 
Madenda." 

"  Well,  now,  Miss  Madenda,"  he  said,  very  affably, 
as  Carrie  thought,  "  you  go  over  there." 

Then  he  called  to  a  young  woman  who  was  already 
of  the  company : 

"  Miss  Clark,  you  pair  with  Miss  Madenda." 

This  young  lady  stepped  forward,  so  that  Carrie  saw 
where  to  go,  and  the  rehearsal  began. 

Carrie  soon  found  that  while  this  drilling  had  some 
slight  resemblance  to  the  rehearsals  as  conducted  at 
Avery  Hall,  the  attitude  of  the  manager  was  much  more 
pronounced.  She  had  marvelled  at  the  insistence  and 
superior  airs  of  Mr.  Millice,  but  the  individual  con- 
ducting here  had  the  same  insistence,  coupled  with  al- 
most brutal  roughness.  As  the  drilling  proceeded,  he 
seemed  to  wax  exceedingly  wroth  over  trifles,  and  to 
increase  his  lung  power  in  proportion.     It  was  very 


424  SISTER  CARRIE 

evident  that  he  had  a  great  contempt  for  any  assump- 
tion of  dignity  or  innocence  on  the  part  of  these  young 
women. 

"  Clark,"  he  would  call — meaning,  of  course,  Miss 
Clark — "  why  don't  you  catch  step  there  ?  " 

"  By  fours,  right !  Right,  I  said,  right !  For  heav- 
en's sake,  get  on  to  yourself !  Right !  "  and  in  saying 
this  he  would  lift  the  last  sounds  into  a  vehement  roar. 

"  Maitland !  Maitland !  "  he  called  once. 

A  nervous,  comely-dressed  little  girl  stepped  out. 
Carrie  trembled  for  her  out  of  the  fulness  of  her  own 
sympathies  and  fear. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Miss  Maitland. 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  your  ears  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Do  you  know  what  '  column  left '  means  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  are  you  stumbling  around  the  right  for? 
Want  to  break  up  the  line?  " 

"  I  was  just " 

"  Never  mind  what  you  were  just.  Keep  your  ears 
open." 

Carrie  pitied,  and  trembled  for  her  turn. 

Yet  another  suffered  the  pain  of  personal  rebuke. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,"  cried  the  manager,  throwing 
up  his  hands,  as  if  in  despair.  His  demeanour  was 
fierce. 

"  Elvers,"  he  shouted,  "  what  have  you  got  in  your 
mouth  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Miss  Elvers,  while  some  smiled  and 
stood  nervously  by. 

"Well,  are  you  talking?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  keep  your  mouth  still  then.  Now,  all  to- 
gether again." 


SISTER  CARRIE  425 

At  last  Carrie's  turn  came.  It  was  because  of  her 
extreme  anxiety  to  do  all  that  was  required  that 
brought  on  the  trouble. 

She  heard  some  one  called. 

"  Mason,"  said  the  voice.     "  Miss  Mason." 

She  looked  around  to  see  who  it  could  be.  A  girl 
behind  shoved  her  a  little,  but  she  did  not  under- 
stand. 

"  You,  you !  "  said  the  manager.     "  Can't  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Carrie,  collapsing,  and  blushing  fiercely. 

"  Isn't  your  name  Mason?  "  asked  the  manager. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Carrie,  "  it's  Madenda." 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  with  your  feet  ?  Can't  you 
dance  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Carrie,  who  had  long  since  learned 
this  art. 

"Why  don't  you  do  it  then?  Don't  go  shuffling 
along  as  if  you  were  dead.  I've  got  to  have  people 
with  life  in  them." 

Carrie's  cheek  burned  with  a  crimson  heat.  Her  lips 
trembled  a  little. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  said. 

It  was  this  constant  urging,  coupled  with  irascibility 
and  energy,  for  three  long  hours.  Carrie  came  away 
worn  enough  in  body,  but  too  excited  in  mind  to  notice 
it.  She  meant  to  go  home  and  practise  her  evolutions 
as  prescribed.  She  would  not  err  in  any  way,  if  she 
could  help  it. 

When  she  reached  the  flat  Hurstwood  was  not  there. 
For  a  wonder  he  was  out  looking  for  work,  as  she  sup- 
posed. She  took  only  a  mouthful  to  eat  and  then  prac- 
tised on,  sustained  by  visions  of  freedom  from  financial 
distress — "  The  sound  of  glory  ringing  in  her  ears." 

When  Hurstwood  returned  he  was  not  so  elated  as 
when  he  went  away,  and  now  she  was  obliged  to  drop 


426  SISTER  CARRIE 

practice  and  get  dinner.  Here  was  an  early  irritation. 
She  would  have  her  work  and  this.  Was  she  going  to 
act  and  keep  house? 

"  I'll  not  do  it,"  she  said,  "after  I  get  started.  He 
can  take  his  meals  out." 

Each  day  thereafter  brought  its  cares.  She  found  it 
was  not  such  a  wonderful  thing  to  be  in  the  chorus,  and 
she  also  learned  that  her  salary  would  be  twelve  dollars 
a  week.  After  a  few  days  she  had  her  first  sight  of 
those  high  and  mighties — the  leading  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. She  saw  that  they  were  privileged  and  deferred 
to.     She  was  nothing — absolutely  nothing  at  all. 

At  home  was  Hurstwood,  daily  giving  her  cause  for 
thought.  He  seemed  to  get  nothing  to  do,  and  yet  he 
made  bold  to  inquire  how  she  was  getting  along.  The 
regularity  with  which  he  did  this  smacked  of  some  one 
who  was  waiting  to  live  upon  her  labour.  Now  that 
she  had  a  visible  means  of  support,  this  irritated  her. 
He  seemed  to  be  depending  upon  her  little  twelve 
dollars. 

"How  are  you  getting  along?"  he  would  blandly 
inquire. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  she  would  reply. 

"Find  it  easy?" 

"  It  will  be  all  right  when  I  get  used  to  it." 

His  paper  would  then  engross  his  thoughts. 

"  I  got  some  lard,"  he  would  add,  as  an  afterthought. 
"  I  thought  maybe  you  might  want  to  make  some 
biscuit." 

The  calm  suggestion  of  the  man  astonished  her  a 
little,  especially  in  the  light  of  recent  developments. 
Her  dawning  independence  gave  her  more  courage  to 
observe,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  wanted  to  say  things. 
Still  she  could  not  talk  to  him  as  she  had  to  Drouet. 
There  was  something  in  the  man's  manner  of  which  she 


SISTER  CARRIE  427 

had  always  stood  in  awe.  He  seemed  to  have  some  in- 
visible strength  in  reserve. 

One  day,  after  her  first  week's  rehearsal,  what  she 
expected  came  openly  to  the  surface. 

"  We'll  have  to  be  rather  saving,"  he  said,  laying 
down  some  meat  he  had  purchased.  "  You  won't  get 
any  money  for  a  week  or  so  yet." 

"  No,"  said  Carrie,  who  was  stirring  a  pan  at  the 
stove. 

"  I've  only  got  the  rent  and  thirteen  dollars  more," 
he  added. 

"  That's  it,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I'm  to  use  my 
money  now." 

Instantly  she  remembered  that  she  had  hoped  to  buy 
a  few  things  for  herself.  She  needed  clothes.  Her  hat 
was  not  nice. 

"  What  will  twelve  dollars  do  towards  keeping  up 
this  flat?  "  she  thought.  "  I  can't  do  it.  Why  doesn't 
he  get  something  to  do  ?  " 

,  The  important  night  of  the  first  real  performance 
came.  She  did  not  suggest  to  Hurstwood  that  he  come 
and  see.  He  did  not  think  of  going.  It  would  only  be 
money  wasted.     She  had  such  a  small  part. 

The  advertisements  were  already  in  the  papers ;  the 
posters  upon  the  bill-boards.  The  leading  lady  and 
many  members  were  cited.     Carrie  was  nothing. 

As  in  Chicago,  she  was  seized  with  stage  fright  as 
the  very  first  entrance  of  the  ballet  approached,  but 
later  she  recovered.  The  apparent  and  painful  insig- 
nificance of  the  part  took  fear  away  from  her.  She 
felt  that  she  was  so  obscure  it  did  not  matter.  For- 
tunately, she  did  not  have  to  wear  tights.  A  group  of 
twelve  were  assigned  pretty  golden-hued  skirts  which 
came  only  to  a  line  about  an  inch  above  the  knee. 
Carrie  happened  to  be  one  of  the  twelve. 


428  SISTER  CARRIE 

In  standing  about  the  stage,  marching,  and  occasion- 
ally lifting  up  her  voice  in  the  general  chorus,  she  had 
a  chance  to  observe  the  audience  and  to  see  the  in- 
auguration of  a  great  hit.  There  was  plenty  of  ap- 
plause, but  she  could  not  help  noting  how  poorly  some 
of  the  women  of  alleged  ability  did. 

"  I  could  do  better  than  that,"  Carrie  ventured  to  her- 
self, in  several  instances.  To  do  her  justice,  she  was 
right. 

After  it  was  over  she  dressed  quickly,  and  as  the 
manager  had  scolded  some  others  and  passed  her,  she 
imagined  she  must  have  proved  satisfactory.  She 
wanted  to  get  out  quickly,  because  she  knew  but  few, 
and  the  stars  were  gossiping.  Outside  were  carriages 
and  some  correct  youths  in  attractive  clothing,  waiting. 
Carrie  saw  that  she  was  scanned  closely.  The  flutter 
of  an  eyelash  would  have  brought  her  a  companion. 
That  she  did  not  give. 

One  experienced  youth  volunteered,  anyhow. 

"  Not  going  home  alone,  are  you  ?  "  he  said. 

Carrie  merely  hastened  her  steps  and  took  the  Sixth 
Avenue  car.  Her  head  was  so  full  of  the  wonder  of  it 
that  she  had  time  for  nothing  else. 

"Did  you  hear  any  more  from  the  brewery?"  she 
asked  at  the  end  of  the  week,  hoping  by  the  question 
to  stir  him  on  to  action. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  they're  not  quite  ready  yet.  I 
think  something  will  come  of  that,  though." 

She  said  nothing  more  then,  objecting  to  giving  up 
her  own  money,  and  yet  feeling  that  such  would  have  to 
be  the  case.  Hurstwood  felt  the  crisis,  and  artfully 
decided  to  appeal  to  Carrie.  He  had  long  since  realised 
how  good-natured  she  was,  how  much  she  would  stand. 
There  was  some  little  shame  in  him  at  the  thought  of 
doing  so,  but  he  justified  himself  with  the  thought  that 


SISTER  CARRIE 


429 


he  really  would  get  something.  Rent  day  gave  him  his 
opportunity. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  he  counted  it  out,  "  that's  about 
the  last  of  my  money.  I'll  have  to  get  something  pretty 
soon." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  askance,  half-suspicious  of  an 
appeal. 

"  If  I  could  only  hold  out  a  little  longer  I  think  I 
could  get  something.  Drake  is  sure  to  open  a  hotel 
here  in  September." 

"Is  he?"  said  Carrie,  thinking  of  the  short  month 
that  still  remained  until  that  time. 

"Would  you  mind  helping  me  out  until  then?"  he 
said  appealingly.  "  I  think  I'll  be  all  right  after  that 
time." 

"  No,"  said  Carrie,  feeling  sadly  handicapped  by  fate. 

"  We  can  get  along  if  we  economise.  I'll  pay  you 
back  all  right." 

"  Oh,  I'll  help  you,"  said  Carrie,  feeling  quite  hard- 
hearted at  thus  forcing  him  to  humbly  appeal,  and  yet 
her  desire  for  the  benefit  of  her  earnings  wrung  a  faint 
protest  from  her. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  anything,  George,  tempo- 
rarily?" she  said.  "What  difference  does  it  make? 
Maybe,  after  a  while,  you'll  get  something  better." 

"  I  will  take  anything,"  he  said,  relieved,  and  wincing 
under  reproof.  "  I'd  just  as  leave  dig  on  the  streets. 
Nobody  knows  me  here." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  do  that,"  said  Carrie,  hurt  by  the 
pity  of  it.     "  But  there  must  be  other  things." 

"  I'll  get  something ! "  he  said,  assuming  deter- 
mination. 

Then  he  went  back  to  his  paper. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

OF  LIGHTS  AND   OF  SHADOWS  :   THE  PARTING  OF  WORLDS 

What  Hurstwood  got  as  the  result  of  this  determina- 
tion was  more  self-assurance  that  each  particular  day 
was  not  the  day.  At  the  same  time,  Carrie  passed 
through  thirty  days  of  mental  distress. 

Her  need  of  clothes — to  say  nothing  of  her  desire  for 
ornaments — grew  rapidly  as  the  fact  developed  that 
for  all  her  work  she  was  not  to  have  them.  The  sym- 
pathy she  felt  for  Hurstwood,  at  the  time  he  asked  her 
to  tide  him  over,  vanished  with  these  newer  urgings  of 
decency.  He  was  not  always  renewing  his  request,  but 
this  love  of  good  appearance  was.  It  insisted,  and  Car- 
rie wished  to  satisfy  it,  wished  more  and  more  that 
Hurstwood  was  not  in  the  way. 

Hurstwood  reasoned,  when  he  neared  the  last  ten 
dollars,  that  he  had  better  keep  a  little  pocket  change 
and  not  become  wholly  dependent  for  car-fare,  shaves, 
and  the  like ;  so  when  this  sum  was  still  in  his  hand  he 
announced  himself  as  penniless. 

"  I'm  clear  out,"  he  said  to  Carrie  one  afternoon.  "  I 
paid  for  some  coal  this  morning,  and  that  took  all  but 
ten  or  fifteen  cents." 

"  I've  got  some  money  there  in  my  purse." 

Hurstwood  went  to  get  it,  starting  for  a  can  of  toma- 
toes. Carrie  scarcely  noticed  that  this  was  the  begin- 
ning of  the  new  order.  He  took  out  fifteen  cents  and 
bought  the  can  with  it.  Thereafter  it  was  dribs  and 
drabs  of  this  sort,  until  one  morning  Carrie  suddenly 


SISTER  CARRIE  43 1 

remembered  that  she  would  not  be  back  until  close  to 
dinner  time. 

"  We're  all  out  of  flour,"  she  said ;  "  you'd  better  get 
some  this  afternoon.  We  haven't  any  meat,  either. 
How  would  it  do  if  we  had  liver  and  bacon?  " 

"  Suits  me,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  Better  get  a  half  or  three-quarters  of  a  pound  of 
that." 

"  Half  '11  be  enough,"  volunteered  Hurstwood. 

She  opened  her  purse  and  laid  down  a  half  dollar. 
He  pretended  not  to  notice  it. 

Hurstwood  bought  the  flour — which  all  grocers  sold 
in  33/2 -pound  packages — for  thirteen  cents  and  paid 
fifteen  cents  for  a  half-pound  of  liver  and  bacon. 
He  left  the  packages,  together  with  the  balance  of 
thirty-two  cents,  upon  the  kitchen  table,  where  Carrie 
found  it.  It  did  not  escape  her  that  the  change  was 
accurate.  There  was  something  sad  in  realising  that, 
after  all,  all  that  he  wanted  of  her  was  something  to 
eat.  She  felt  as  if  hard  thoughts  were  unjust.  Maybe 
he  would  get  something  yet.     He  bad  no  vices. 

That  very  evening,  however,  on  going  into  the 
theatre,  one  of  the  chorus  girls  passed  her  all  newly 
arrayed  in  a  pretty  mottled  tweed  suit,  which  took  Car- 
rie's eye.  The  young  woman  wore  a  fine  bunch  of 
violets  and  seemed  in  high  spirits.  She  smiled  at  Car- 
rie good-naturedly  as  she  passed,  showing  pretty,  even 
teeth,  and  Carrie  smiled  back. 

"  She  can  afford  to  dress  well,"  thought  Carrie,  "  and 
so  could  I,  if  I  could  only  keep  my  money.  I  haven't  a 
decent  tie  of  any  kind  to  wear." 

She  put  out  her  foot  and  looked  at  her  shoe  reflec- 
tively. 

"  I'll  get  a  pair  of  shoes  Saturday,  anyhow;  I  don't 
care  what  happens." 


432 


SISTER  CARRIE 


One  of  the  sweetest  and  most  sympathetic  little 
chorus  girls  in  the  company  made  friends  with  her  be- 
cause in  Carrie  she  found  nothing  to  frighten  her  away. 
She  was  a  gay  little  Manon,  unwitting  of  society's  fierce 
conception  of  morality,  but,  nevertheless,  good  to  her 
neighbour  and  charitable.  Little  license  was  allowed 
the  chorus  in  the  matter  of  conversation,  but,  never- 
theless, some  was  indulged  in. 

"  It's  warm  to-night,  isn't  it?  "  said  this  girl,  arrayed 
in  pink  fleshings  and  an  imitation  golden  helmet.  She 
also  carried  a  shining  shield. 

"Yes ;  it  is,"  said  Carrie, pleased  that  some  one  should 
talk  to  her. 

"  I'm  almost  roasting,"  said  the  girl. 

Carrie  looked  into  her  pretty  face,  with  its  large  blue 
eyes,  and  saw  little  beads  of  moisture. 

"  There's  more  marching  in  this  opera  than  ever  I 
did  before,"  added  the  girl. 

"  Have  you  been  in  others?"  asked  Carrie,  surprised 
at  her  experience. 

"  Lots  of  them,"  said  the  girl ;  "  haven't  you?  " 

"  This  is  my  first  experience." 

"  Oh,  is  it?  I  thought  I  saw  you  the  time  they  ran 
'  The  Queen's  Mate  '  here." 

"  No,"  said  Carrie,  shaking  her  head ;  "  not  me." 

This  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  blare  of 
the  orchestra  and  the  sputtering  of  the  calcium  lights 
in  the  wings  as  the  line  was  called  to  form  for  a  new 
entrance.  No  further  opportunity  for  conversation 
occurred,  but  the  next  evening,  when  they  were  getting 
ready  for  the  stage,  this  girl  appeared  anew  at  her 
side. 

"  They  say  this  show  is  going  on  the  road  next 
month." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  Carrie. 


SISTER  CARRIE  433 

"Yes;  do  you  think  you'll  go?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  guess  so,  if  they'll  take  me." 

"  Oh,  they'll  take  you.  I  wouldn't  go.  They  won't 
give  you  any  more,  and  it  will  cost  you  everything  you 
make  to  live.  I  never  leave  New  York.  There  are  too 
many  shows  going  on  here." 

"  Can  you  always  get  in  another  show  ?  " 

"  I  always  have.  There's  one  going  on  up  at  the 
Broadway  this  month.  I'm  going  to  try  and  get  in 
that  if  this  one  really  goes." 

Carrie  heard  this  with  aroused  intelligence.  Evi- 
dently it  wasn't  so  very  difficult  to  get  on.  Maybe  she 
also  could  get  a  place  if  this  show  went  away. 

"  Do  they  all  pay  about  the  same?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  Sometimes  you  get  a  little  more.  This  show 
doesn't  pay  very  much." 

"  I  get  twelve,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  the  girl.  "  They  pay  me  fifteen,  and 
you  do  more  work  than  I  do.  I  wouldn't  stand  it  if  I 
were  you.  They're  just  giving  you  less  because  they 
think  you  don't  know.  You  ought  to  be  making  fif- 
teen." 

"  Well,  I'm  not,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  you'll  get  more  at  the  next  place  if  you  want 
it,"  went  on  the  girl,  who  admired  Carrie  very  much. 
"  You  do  fine,  and  the  manager  knows  it." 

To  say  the  truth,  Carrie  did  unconsciously  move 
about  with  an  air  pleasing  and  somewhat  distinctive. 
It  was  due  wholly  to  her  natural  manner  and  total  lack 
of  self-consciousness. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  get  more  up  at  the 
Broadway  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can,"  answered  the  girl.  "  You  come 
with  me  when  I  go.     I'll  do  the  talking." 

Carrie  heard  this,  flushing  with  thankfulness.  She 
28 


434  SISTER  CARRIE 

liked  this  little  gaslight  soldier.  She  seemed  so  ex- 
perienced and  self-reliant  in  her  tinsel  helmet  and 
military  accoutrements. 

"  My  future  must  be  assured  if  I  can  always  get  work 
this  way,"  thought  Carrie. 

Still,  in  the  morning,  when  her  household  duties 
would  infringe  upon  her  and  Hurstwood  sat  there,  a 
perfect  load  to  contemplate,  her  fate  seemed  dismal  and 
unrelieved.  It  did  not  take  so  very  much  to  feed  them 
under  Hurstwood's  close-measured  buying,  and  there 
would  possibly  be  enough  for  rent,  but  it  left  nothing 
else.  Carrie  bought  the  shoes  and  some  other  things, 
which  complicated  the  rent  problem  very  seriously. 
Suddenly,  a  week  from  the  fatal  day,  Carrie  realised 
that  they  were  going  to  run  short. 

"  I  don't  believe,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  into  her 
purse  at  breakfast,  "  that  I'll  have  enough  to  pay  the 
rent." 

"How  much  have  you?"  inquired  Hurstwood. 

"Well,  I've  got  twenty-two  dollars,  but  there's  every- 
thing to  be  paid  for  this  week  yet,  and  if  I  use  all  I  get 
Saturday  to  pay  this,  there  won't  be  any  left  for  next 
week.  Do  you  think  your  hotel  man  will  open  his  hotel 
this  month  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  returned  Hurstwood.  "  He  said  he 
would." 

After  a  while,  Hurstwood  said : 

"  Don't  worry  about  it.  Maybe  the  grocer  will  wait. 
He  can  do  that.  We've  traded  there  long  enough  to 
make  him  trust  us  for  a  week  or  two." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  think  so." 

On  this  account,  Hurstwood,  this  very  day,  looked 
grocer  Oeslogge  clearly  in  the  eye  as  he  ordered  a 
pound  of  coffee,  and  said : 


SISTER  CARRIE  435 

"  Do  you  mind  carrying  my  account  until  the  end  of 
every  week  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Wheeler,"  said  Mr.  Oeslogge.  "  Dat 
iss  all  right." 

Hurstwood,  still  tactful  in  distress,  added  nothing  to 
this.  It  seemed  an  easy  thing.  He  looked  out  of  the 
door,  and  then  gathered  up  his  coffee  when  ready  and 
came  away.     The  game  of  a  desperate  man  had  begun. 

Rent  was  paid,  and  now  came  the  grocer.  Hurst- 
wood managed  by  paying  out  of  his  own  ten  and  col- 
lecting from  Carrie  at  the  end  of  the  week.  Then  he 
delayed  a  day  next  time  settling  with  the  grocer,  and 
so  soon  had  his  ten  back,  with  Oeslogge  getting  his  pay 
on  this  Thursday  or  Friday  for  last  Saturday's  bill. 

This  entanglement  made  Carrie  anxious  for  a  change 
of  some  sort.  Hurstwood  did  not  seem  to  realise  that 
she  had  a  right  to  anything.  He  schemed  to  make  what 
she  earned  cover  all  expenses,  but  seemed  not  to  trouble 
over  adding  anything  himself. 

"  He  talks  about  worrying,"  thought  Carrie.  "  If 
he  worried  enough  he  couldn't  sit  there  and  wait  for  me. 
He'd  get  something  to  do.  No  man  could  go  seven 
months  without  finding  something  if  he  tried." 

The  sight  of  him  always  around  in  his  untidy  clothes 
and  gloomy  appearance  drove  Carrie  to  seek  relief  in 
other  places.  Twice  a  week  there  were  matinees,  and 
then  Hurstwood  ate  a  cold  snack,  which  he  prepared 
himself.  Two  other  days  there  were  rehearsals  begin- 
ning at  ten  in  the  morning  and  lasting  usually  until  one. 
Now,  to  this  Carrie  added  a  few  visits  to  one  or  two 
chorus  girls,  including  the  blue-eyed  soldier  of  the 
golden  helmet.  She  did  it  because  it  was  pleasant  and 
a  relief  from  dulness  of  the  home  over  which  her 
husband  brooded. 

The  blue-eyed  soldier's  name  was  Osborne — Lola 


436  SISTER  CARRIE 

Osborne.  Her  room  was  in  Nineteenth  Street  near 
Fourth  Avenue,  a  block  now  given  up  wholly  to  office 
buildings.  Here  she  had  a  comfortable  back  room, 
looking  over  a  collection  of  back  yards  in  which  grew 
a  number  of  shade  trees  pleasant  to  see. 

"  Isn't  your  home  in  New  York  ?  "  she  asked  of  Lola 
one  day. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  can't  get  along  with  my  people.  They 
always  want  me  to  do  what  they  want.  Do  you  live 
here?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie. 

"With  your  family?" 

Carrie  was  ashamed  to  say  that  she  was  married. 
She  had  talked  so  much  about  getting  more  salary  and 
confessed  to  so  much  anxiety  about  her  future,  that 
now,  when  the  direct  question  of  fact  was  waiting,  she 
could  not  tell  this  girl. 

"  With  some  relatives,"  she  answered. 

Miss  Osborne  took  it  for  granted  that,  like  herself, 
Carrie's  time  was  her  own.  She  invariably  asked  her 
to  stay,  proposing  little  outings  and  other  things  of  that 
sort  until  Carrie  began  neglecting  her  dinner  hours. 
Hurstwood  noticed  it,  but  felt  in  no  position  to  quarrel 
with  her.  Several  times  she  came  so  late  as  scarcely 
to  have  an  hour  in  which  to  patch  up  a  meal  and  start 
for  the  theatre. 

"Do  you  rehearse  in  the  afternoons?"  Hurstwood 
once  asked,  concealing  almost  completely  the  cynical 
protest  and  regret  which  prompted  it. 

"  No ;  I  was  looking  around  for  another  place,"  said 
Carrie. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  she  was,  but  only  in  such  a  way 
as  furnished  the  least  straw  of  an  excuse.  Miss  Os- 
borne and  she  had- gone  to  the  office  of  the  manager 
who  was  to  produce  the  new  opera  at  the  Broadway 


SISTER  CARRIE  437 

and  returned  straight  to  the  former's  room,  where  they 
had  been  since  three  o'clock. 

Carrie  felt  this  question  to  be  an  infringement  on  her 
liberty.  She  did  not  take  into  account  how  much  lib- 
erty she  was  securing.  Only  the  latest  step,  the  new- 
est freedom,  must  not  be  questioned. 

Hurstwood  saw  it  all  clearly  enough.  He  was  shrewd 
after  his  kind,  and  yet  there  was  enough  decency  in  the 
man  to  stop  him  from  making  any  effectual  protest. 
In  his  almost  inexplicable  apathy  he  was  content  to 
droop  supinely  while  Carrie  drifted  out  of  his  life,  just 
as  he  was  willing  supinely  to  see  opportunity  pass  be- 
yond his  control.  He  could  not  help  clinging  and  pro- 
testing in  a  mild,  irritating,  and  ineffectual  way,  how- 
ever— a  way  that  simply  widened  the  breach  by  slow 
degrees. 

A  further  enlargement  of  this  chasm  between  them 
came  when  the  manager,  looking  between  the  wings 
upon  the  brightly  lighted  stage  where  the  chorus  was 
going  through  some  of  its  glittering  evolutions,  said 
to  the  master  of  the  ballet : 

"  Who  is  that  fourth  girl  there  on  the  right — the  one 
coming  round  at  the  end  now?" 

"  Oh,"  said  the  ballet-master,  "  that's  Miss  Ma- 
denda." 

"  She's  good  looking.  Why  don't  you  let  her  head 
that  line  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  the  man. 

"  Just  do  that.  She'll  look  better  there  than  the 
woman  you've  got." 

"  All  right.     I  will  do  that,"  said  the  master. 

The  next  evening  Carrie  was  called  out,  much  as  if 
for  an  error. 

"  You  lead  your  company  to-night,"  said  the  master. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Carrie. 


438  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Put  snap  into  it,"  he  added.    "  We  must  have  snap." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Carrie. 

Astonished  at  this  change,  she  thought  that  the  here- 
tofore leader  must  be  ill ;  but  when  she  saw  her  in  the 
line,  with  a  distinct  expression  of  something  unfavour- 
able in  her  eye,  she  began  to  think  that  perhaps  it  was 
merit. 

She  had  a  chic  way  of  tossing  her  head  to  one  side,  and 
holding  her  arms  as  if  for  action — not  listlessly.  In  front 
of  the  line  this  showed  up  even  more  effectually. 

"  That  girl  knows  how  to  carry  herself,"  said  the 
manager,  another  evening.  He  began  to  think  that  he 
should  like  to  talk  with  her.  If  he  hadn't  made  it  a 
rule  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  members  of  the 
chorus,  he  would  have  approached  her  most  unbend- 
ingly. 

"  Put  that  girl  at  the  head  of  the  white  column,"  he 
suggested  to  the  man  in  charge  of  the  ballet. 

This  white  column  consisted  of  some  twenty  girls, 
all  in  snow-white  flannel  trimmed  with  silver  and  blue. 
Its  leader  was  most  stunningly  arrayed  in  the  same 
colours,  elaborated,  however,  with  epaulets  and  a  belt 
of  silver,  with  a  short  sword  dangling  at  one  side.  Car- 
rie was  fitted  for  this  costume,  and  a  few  days  later 
appeared,  proud  of  her  new  laurels.  She  was  especially 
gratified  to  find  that  her  salary  was  now  eighteen  in- 
stead of  twelve. 

Hurstwood  heard  nothing  about  this. 

"  I'll  not  give  him  the  rest  of  my  money,"  said  Carrie. 
"  I  do  enough.  I  am  going  to  get  me  something  to 
wear." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  during  this  second  month  she 
had  been  buying  for  herself  as  recklessly  as  she  dared, 
regardless  of  the  consequences.  There  were  impend- 
ing more  complications  rent  day,  and  more  extension 


SISTER   CARRIE 


439 


of  the  credit  system  in  the  neighbourhood.  Now,  how- 
ever, she  proposed  to  do  better  by  herself. 

Her  first  move  was  to  buy  a  shirt  waist,  and  in  study- 
ing these  she  found  how  little  her  money  would  buy 
— how  much,  if  she  could  only  use  all.  She  forgot 
that  if  she  were  alone  she  would  have  to  pay  for  a 
room  and  board,  and  imagined  that  every  cent  of  her 
eighteen  could  be  spent  for  clothes  and  things  that  she 
liked. 

At  last  she  picked  upon  something,  which  not  only 
used  up  all  her  surplus  above  twelve,  but  invaded  that 
sum.  She  knew  she  was  going  too  far,  but  her  feminine 
love  of  finery  prevailed.  The  next  day  Hurstwood 
said: 

"  We  owe  the  grocer  five  dollars  and  forty  cents  this 
week." 

"  Do  we  ?  "  said  Carrie,  frowning  a  little. 

She  looked  in  her  purse  to  leave  it. 

"  I've  only  got  eight  dollars  and  twenty  cents  alto- 
gether." 

"  We  owe  the  milkman  sixty  cents,"  added  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  Yes,  and  there's  the  coal  man,"  said  Carrie. 

Hurstwood  said  nothing.  He  had  seen  the  new 
things  she  was  buying  ;  the  way  she  was  neglecting 
household  duties  ;  the  readiness  with  which  she  was 
slipping  out  afternoons  and  staying.  He  felt  that  some- 
thing was  going  to  happen.     All  at  once  she  spoke : 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said ;  "  I  can't  do  it  all.  I  don't 
earn  enough." 

This  was  a  direct  challenge.  Hurstwood  had  to  take 
it  up.     He  tried  to  be  calm. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  do  it  all,"  he  said.  "  I  only 
want  a  little  help  until  I  can  get  something  to  do." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Carrie.     "  That's  always  the 


440  SISTER  CARRIE 

way.  It  takes  more  than  I  can  earn  to  pay  for  things. 
I  don't  see  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

"  Well,  I've  tried  to  get  something,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  You  couldn't  have  tried  so  very  hard,"  said  Carrie. 
"  I  got  something." 

"  Well,  I  did,"  he  said,  angered  almost  to  harsh 
words-  "  You  needn't  throw  up  your  success  to  me. 
All  I  asked  was  a  little  help  until  I  could  get  some- 
thing.    I'm  not  down  yet.     I'll  come  up  all  right." 

He  tried  to  speak  steadily,  but  his  voice  trembled  a 
little. 

Carrie's  anger  melted  on  the  instant.  She  felt 
ashamed. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  here's  the  money,"  and  emptied 
it  out  on  the  table.  "  I  haven't  got  quite  enough  to  pay 
it  all.  If  they  can  wait  until  Saturday,  though,  I'll  have 
some  more." 

"  You  keep  it,"  said  Hurstwood,  sadly.  "  I  only  want 
enough  to  pay  the  grocer." 

She  put  it  back,  and  proceeded  to  get  dinner  early 
and  in  good  time.  Her  little  bravado  made  her  feel  as 
if  she  ought  to  make  amends. 

In  a  little  while  their  old  thoughts  returned  to  both. 

"  She's  making  more  than  she  says,"  thought  Hurst- 
wood. "  She  says  she's  making  twelve,  but  that  wouldn't 
buy  all  those  things.  I  don't  care.  Let  her  keep  her 
money.  I'll  get  something  again  one  of  these  days. 
Then  she  can  go  to  the  deuce." 

He  only  said  this  in  his  anger,  but  it  prefigured  a  pos- 
sible course  of  action  and  attitude  well  enough. 

"  I  don't  care,"  thought  Carrie.  "  He  ought  to  be 
told  to  get  out  and  do  something.  It  isn't  right  that  I 
should  support  him." 

In  these  days  Carrie  was  introduced  to  several  youths, 


SISTER  CARRIE  44 1 

friends  of  Miss  Osborne,  who  were  of  the  kind  most 
aptly  described  as  gay  and  festive.  They  called  once 
to  get  Miss  Osborne  for  an  afternoon  drive.  Carrie 
was  with  her  at  the  time. 

"  Come  and  go  along,"  said  Lola. 

"  No,  I  can't,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  yes,  come  and  go.  What  have  you  got  to 
do?" 

"  I  have  to  be  home  by  five,"  said  Carrie. 

"  What  for?" 

"  Oh,  dinner." 

"  They'll  take  us  to  dinner,"  said  Lola. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Carrie.     "  I  won't  go.     I  can't." 

"  Oh,  do  come.  They're  awful  nice  boys.  We'll 
get  you  back  in  time.  We're  only  going  for  a  drive  in 
Central  Park." 

Carrie  thought  a  while,  and  at  last  yielded. 

"  Now,  I  must  be  back  by  half-past  four,"  she  said. 

The  information  went  in  one  ear  of  Lola  and  out  the 
other. 

After  Drouet  and  Hurstwood,  there  was  the  least 
touch  of  cynicism  in  her  attitude  toward  young  men — 
especially  of  the  gay  and  frivolous  sort.  She  felt  a  little 
older  than  they.  Some  of  their  pretty  compliments 
seemed  silly.  Still,  she  was  young  in  heart  and  body 
and  youth  appealed  to  her. 

"  Oh,  we'll  be  right  back,  Miss  Madenda,"  said  one 
of  the  chaps,  bowing.  "  You  wouldn't  think  we'd  keep 
you  over  time,  now,  would  you?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrie,  smiling. 

They  were  off  for  a  drive — she,  looking  about  and 
noticing  fine  clothing,  the  young  men  voicing  those 
silly  pleasantries  and  weak  quips  which  pass  for  hu- 
mour in  coy  circles.  Carrie  saw  the  great  park  parade 
of  carriages,  beginning  at  the  Fifty-ninth  Street  en- 


442  SISTER  CARRIE 

trance  and  winding  past  the  Museum  of  Art  to  the  exit 
at  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street  and  Seventh  Avenue. 
Her  eye  was  once  more  taken  by  the  show  of  wealth 
— the  elaborate  costumes,  elegant  harnesses,  spirited 
horses,  and,  above  all,  the  beauty.  Once  more  the 
plague  of  poverty  galled  her,  but  now  she  forgot  in  a 
measure  her  own  troubles  so  far  as  to  forget  Hurst- 
wood.  He  waited  until  four,  five,  and  even  six.  It  was 
getting  dark  when  he  got  up  out  of  his  chair. 

"  I  guess  she  isn't  coming  home,"  he  said,  grimly. 

"  That's  the  way,"  he  thought.  "  She's  getting  a 
start  now.     I'm  out  of  it." 

Carrie  had  really  discovered  her  neglect,  but  only  at 
a  quarter  after  five,  and  the  open  carriage  was  now  far 
up  Seventh  Avenue,  near  the  Harlem  River. 

"  What  time  is  it?  "  she  inquired.  "  I  must  be  get- 
ting back." 

"  A  quarter  after  five,"  said  her  companion,  consult- 
ing an  elegant,  open-faced  watch. 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !  "  exclaimed  Carrie.  Then  she  settled 
back  with  a  sigh.  "  There's  no  use  crying  over  spilt 
milk,"  she  said.     "  It's  too  late." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  the  youth,  who  saw  visions  of 
a  fine  dinner  now,  and  such  invigorating  talk  as  would 
result  in  a  reunion  after  the  show.  He  was  greatly 
taken  with  Carrie.  "  We'll  drive  down  to  Delmonico's 
now  and  have  something  there,  won't  we,  Orrin?  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  Orrin,  gaily. 

Carrie  thought  of  Hurstwood.  Never  before  had  she 
neglected  dinner  without  an  excuse. 

They  drove  back,  and  at  6.15  sat  down  to  dine.  It 
was  the  Sherry  incident  over  again,  the  remembrance  of 
which  came  painfully  back  to  Carrie.  She  remembered 
Mrs.  Vance,  who  had  never  called  again  after  Hurst- 
wood's  reception,  and  Ames. 


SISTER   CARRIE  443 

At  this  figure  her  mind  halted.  It  was  a  strong, 
clean  vision.  He  liked  better  books  than  she  read,  bet- 
ter people  than  she  associated  with.  His  ideals  burned 
in  her  heart. 

"  It's  fine  to  be  a  good  actress,"  came  distinctly  back. 

What  sort  of  an  actress  was  she  ? 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Miss  Madenda?  "  in- 
quired her  merry  companion.  "  Come,  now,  let's  see 
if  I  can  guess." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Carrie.     "  Don't  try." 

She  shook  it  off  and  ate.  She  forgot,  in  part,  and  was 
merry.  When  it  came  to  the  after-theatre  proposition, 
however,  she  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  can't.  I  have  a  previous  en- 
gagement." 

"  Oh,  now,  Miss  Madenda,"  pleaded  the  youth. 

"  No,"  said  Carrie,  "  I  can't.  You've  been  so  kind, 
but  you'll  have  to  excuse  me." 

The  youth  looked  exceedingly  crestfallen. 

"  Cheer  up,  old  man,"  whispered  his  companion. 
"  We'll  go  around,  anyhow.  She  may  change  her 
mind." 


CHAPTER   XL 

A  PUBLIC  DISSENSION  I  A  FINAL  APPEAL 

There  was  no  after-theatre  lark,  however,  so  far  as 
Carrie  was  concerned.  She  made  her  way  homeward, 
thinking  about  her  absence.  Hurstwood  was  asleep, 
but  roused  up  to  look  as  she  passed  through  to  her  own 
bed. 

"  Is  that  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  she  felt  like  apologising. 

"  I  couldn't  get  home  last  evening,"  she  said. 

"  Ah,  Carrie,"  he  answered,  "  what's  the  use  saying 
that?     I  don't  care.     You  needn't  tell  me  that,  though." 

"  I  couldn't,"  said  Carrie,  her  colour  rising.  Then, 
seeing  that  he  looked  as  if  he  said  "  I  know,"  she  ex- 
claimed :  "  Oh,  all  right.     I  don't  care." 

From  now  on,  her  indifference  to  the  flat  was  even 
greater.  There  seemed  no  common  ground  on  which 
they  could  talk  to  one  another.  She  let  herself  be  asked 
for  expenses.  It  became  so  with  him  that  he  hated  to 
do  it.  He  preferred  standing  off  the  butcher  and  baker. 
He  ran  up  a  grocery  bill  of  sixteen  dollars  with  Oes- 
l°gg"e>  laying  in  a  supply  of  staple  articles,  so  that  they 
would  not  have  to  buy  any  of  those  things  for  some 
time  to  come.  Then  he  changed  his  grocery.  It  was 
the  same  with  the  butcher  and  several  others.  Carrie 
never  heard  anything  of  this  directly  from  him.  He 
asked  for  such  as  he  could  expect,  drifting  farther  and 


SISTER   CARRIE  445 

farther  into  a  situation  which  could  have  but  one 
ending. 

In  this  fashion,  September  went  by. 

"  Isn't  Mr.  Drake  going  to  open  his  hotel  ?  "  Carrie 
asked  several  times. 

"  Yes.     He  won't  do  it  before  October,  though,  now." 

Carrie  became  disgusted.  "  Such  a  man,"  she  said 
to  herself  frequently.  More  and  more  she  visited.  She 
put  most  of  her  spare  money  in  clothes,  which,  after  all, 
was  not  an  astonishing  amount.  At  last  the  opera  she 
was  with  announced  its  departure  within  four  weeks. 
"  Last  two  weeks  of  the  Great  Comic  Opera  success — 

The  ,"  etc.,  was  upon  all  billboards  and  in  the 

newspapers,  before  she  acted. 

"  I'm  not  going  out  on  the  road,"  said  Miss  Osborne. 

Carrie  went  with  her  to  apply  to  another  manager. 

"Ever  had  any  experience?"  was  one  of  his  ques- 
tions. 

"  I'm  with  the  company  at  the  Casino  now." 

"  Oh,  you  are?  "  he  said. 

The  end  of  this  was  another  engagement  at  twenty 
per  week. 

Carrie  was  delighted.  She  began  to  feel  that  she 
had  a  place  in  the  world.     People  recognised  ability. 

So  changed  was  her  state  that  the  home  atmosphere 
became  intolerable.  It  was  all  poverty  and  trouble 
there,  or  seemed  to  be,  because  it  was  a  load  to  bear. 
It  became  a  place  to  keep  away  from.  Still  she  slept 
there,  and  did  a  fair  amount  of  work,  keeping  it  in  order. 
It  was  a  sitting  place  for  Hurstwood.  He  sat  and 
rocked,  rocked  and  read,  enveloped  in  the  gloom  of  his 
own  fate.  October  went  by,  and  November.  It  was 
the  dead  of  winter  almost  before  he  knew  it,  and  there 
he  sat. 

Carrie  was  doing  better,  that  he  knew.     Her  clothes 


446  SISTER  CARRIE 

were  improved  now,  even  fine.  He  saw  her  coming 
and  going,  sometimes  picturing  to  himself  her  rise. 
Little  eating  had  thinned  him  somewhat.  He  had  no 
appetite.  His  clothes,  too,  were  a  poor  man's  clothes. 
Talk  about  getting  something  had  become  even  too 
threadbare  and  ridiculous  for  him.  So  he  folded  his 
hands  and  waited — for  what,  he  could  not  anticipate. 

At  last,  however,  troubles  became  too  thick.  The 
hounding  of  creditors,  the  indifference  of  Carrie,  the 
silence  of  the  flat,  and  presence  of  winter,  all  joined  to 
produce  a  climax.  It  was  effected  by  the  arrival  of 
Oeslogge,  personally,  when  Carrie  was  there. 

"  I  call  about  my  bill,"  said  Mr.  Oeslogge. 

Carrie  was  only  faintly  surprised. 

"  How  much  is  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  Sixteen  dollars,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  that  much?"  said  Carrie.  "Is  this  right?" 
she  asked,  turning  to  Hurstwood. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  never  heard  anything  about  it." 

She  looked  as  if  she  thought  he  had  been  contracting 
some  needless  expense. 

"  Well,  we  had  it  all  right,"  he  answered.  Then  he 
went  to  the  door.  "  I  can't  pay  you  anything  on  that 
to-day,"  he  said,  mildly. 

"  Well,  when  can  you  ?  "  said  the  grocer. 

"  Not  before  Saturday,  anyhow,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  Huh  !  "  returned  the  grocer.  "  This  is  fine.  I  must 
have  that.     I  need  the  money." 

Carrie  was  standing  farther  back  in  the  room,  hearing 
it  all.  She  was  greatly  distressed.  It  was  so  bad  and 
commonplace.     Hurstwood  was  annoyed  also. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  there's  no  use  talking  about  it  now. 
If  you'll  come  in  Saturday,  I'll  pay  you  something  on 
it." 


SISTER  CARRIE  447 

The  grocery  man  went  away. 

"  How  are  we  going  to  pay  it  ?  "  asked  Carrie,  aston- 
ished by  the  bill.     "  I  can't  do  it." 

"  Well,  you  don't  have  to,"  he  said.  "  He  can't  get 
what  he  can't  get.     He'll  have  to  wait." 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  ran  up  such  a  bill  as  that,"  said 
Carrie. 

"  Well,  we  ate  it,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  It's  funny,"  she  replied,  still  doubting. 

"  What's  the  use  of  your  standing  there  and  talking 
like  that,  now?  "  he  asked.  "  Do  you  think  I've  had  it 
alone  ?     You  talk  as  if  I'd  taken  something." 

"  Well,  it's  too  much,  anyhow,"  said  Carrie.  "  I 
oughtn't  to  be  made  to  pay  for  it.  I've  got  more  than 
I  can  pay  for  now." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Hurstwood,  sitting  down  in  si- 
lence.    He  was  sick  of  the  grind  of  this  thing. 

Carrie  went  out,  and  there  he  sat,  determining  to  do 
something. 

There  had  been  appearing  in  the  papers  about  this 
time  rumours  and  notices  of  an  approaching  strike  on 
the  trolley  lines  in  Brooklyn.  There  was  general  dis- 
satisfaction as  to  the  hours  of  labour  required  and  the 
wages  paid.  As  usual — and  for  some  inexplicable  rea- 
son— the  men  chose  the  winter  for  the  forcing  of  the 
hand  of  their  employers  and  the  settlement  of  their 
difficulties. 

Hurstwood  had  been  reading  of  this  thing,  and  won- 
dering concerning  the  huge  tie-up  which  would  follow. 
A  day  or  two  before  this  trouble  with  Carrie,  it  came. 
On  a  cold  afternoon,  when  everything  was  grey  and  it 
threatened  to  snow,  the  papers  announced  that  the  men 
had  been  called  out  on  all  the  lines. 

Being  so  utterly  idle,  and  his  mind  filled  with  the 
numerous  predictions  which  had  been  made  concern- 


448  SISTER  CARRIE 

ing  the  scarcity  of  labour  this  winter  and  the  panicky- 
state  of  the  financial  market,  Hurstwood  read  this  with 
interest.  He  noted  the  claims  of  the  striking  motor- 
men  and  conductors,  who  said  that  they  had  been  wont 
to  receive  two  dollars  a  day  in  times  past,  but  that  for  a 
year  or  more  "  trippers  "  had  been  introduced,  which 
cut  down  their  chance  of  livelihood  one-half,  and  in- 
creased their  hours  of  servitude  from  ten  to  twelve, 
and  even  fourteen.  These  "  trippers  "  were  men  put 
on  during  the  busy  and  rush  hours,  to  take  a  car  out 
for  one  trip.  The  compensation  paid  for  such  a  trip 
was  only  twenty-five  cents.  When  the  rush  or  busy 
hours  were  over,  they  were  laid  off.  Worst  of  all,  no 
man  might  know  when  he  was  going  to  get  a  car.  He 
must  come  to  the  barns  in  the  morning  and  wait  around 
in  fair  and  foul  weather  until  such  time  as  he  was 
needed.  Two  trips  were  an  average  reward  for  so 
much  waiting — a  little  over  three  hours'  work  for  fifty 
cents.     The  work  of  waiting  was  not  counted. 

The  men  complained  that  this  system  was  extending, 
and  that  the  time  was  not  far  off  when  but  a  few  out  of 
7,000  employees  would  have  regular  two-dollar-a-day 
work  at  all.  They  demanded  that  the  system  be  abol- 
ished, and  that  ten  hours  be  considered  a  day's  work, 
barring  unavoidable  delays,  with  $2.25  pay.  They  de- 
manded immediate  acceptance  of  these  terms,  which 
the  various  trolley  companies  refused. 

Hurstwood  at  first  sympathised  with  the  demands  of 
these  men — indeed,  it  is  a  question  whether  he  did  not 
always  sympathise  with  them  to  the  end,  belie  him  as 
his  actions  might.  Reading  nearly  all  the  news,  he 
was  attracted  first  by  the  scare-heads  with  which  the 
trouble  was  noted  in  the  "  World."  He  read  it  fully — 
the  names  of  the  seven  companies  involved,  the  number 
of  men. 


SISTER  CARRIE  449 

"  They're  foolish  to  strike  in  this  sort  of  weather,"  he 
thought  to  himself.    "  Let  'em  win  if  they  can,  though." 

The  next  day  there  was  even  a  larger  notice  of  it. 
"  Brooklynites  Walk,"  said  the  '•'  World."  "  Knights 
of  Labour  Tie  up  the  Trolley  Lines  Across  the 
Bridge."     "  About  Seven  Thousand  Men  Out." 

Hurstwood  read  this,  formulating  to  himself  his  own 
idea  of  what  would  be  the  outcome.  He  was  a  great 
believer  in  the  strength  of  corporations. 

"  They  can't  win,"  he  said,  concerning  the  men. 
"  They  haven't  any  money.  The  police  will  protect  the 
companies.  They've  got  to.  The  public  has  to  have 
its  cars." 

He  didn't  sympathise  with  the  corporations,  but 
strength  was  with  them.  So  was  property  and  public 
utility. 

"  Those  fellows  can't  win,"  he  thought. 

Among  other  things,  he  noticed  a  circular  issued  by 
one  of  the  companies,  which  read : 

"Atlantic  Avenue  Railroad. 
"SPECIAL  NOTICE. 

"The  motormen  and  conductors  and  other  employees  of  this 
company  having  abruptly  left  its  service,  an  opportunity  is  now 
given  to  all  loyal  men  who  have  struck  against  their  will  to  be 
reinstated,  providing  they  will  make  their  applications  by  twelve 
o'clock  noon  on  Wednesday,  January  16th.  Such  men  will  be 
given  employment  (with  guaranteed  protection)  in  the  order  in 
which  such  applications  are  received,  and  runs  and  positions 
assigned  them  accordingly.  Otherwise,  they  will  be  considered 
discharged,  and  every  vacancy  will  be  filled  by  a  new  man  as 
soon  as  his  services  can  be  secured. 
"  (Signed) 
"  Benjamin  Norton, 

"President." 
29 


450  SISTER   CARRIE 

He  also  noted  among  the  want  ads.  one  which  read : 

"WANTED. — 50  skilled  motormen,  accustomed  to  Westing- 
house  system,  to  run  U.  S.  mail  cars  only,  in  the  City  of  Brook- 
lyn ;  protection  guaranteed." 

He  noted  particularly  in  each  the  "  protection  guar- 
anteed." It  signified  to  him  the  unassailable  power  of 
the  companies. 

"  They've  got  the  militia  on  their  side,"  he  thought. 
"  There  isn't  anything  those  men  can  do." 

While  this  was  still  in  his  mind,  the  incident  with 
Oeslogge  and  Carrie  occurred.  There  had  been  a  good 
deal  to  irritate  him,  but  this  seemed  much  the  worst. 
Never  before  had  she  accused  him  of  stealing — or  very 
near  that.  She  doubted  the  naturalness  of  so  large  a 
bill.  And  he  had  worked  so  hard  to  make  expenses 
seem  light.  He  had  been  "  doing  "  butcher  and  baker 
in  order  not  to  call  on  her.  He  had  eaten  very  little — 
almost  nothing. 

"  Damn  it  all !  "  he  said.  "  I  can  get  something.  I'm 
not  down  yet." 

He  thought  that  he  really  must  do  something  now. 
It  was  too  cheap  to  sit  around  after  such  an  insinuation 
as  this.  Why,  after  a  little,  he  would  be  standing  any- 
thing. 

He  got  up  and  looked  out  the  window  into  the  chilly 
street.  It  came  gradually  into  his  mind,  as  he  stood 
there,  to  go  to  Brooklyn. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  his  mind  said.  "  Any  one  can  get  work 
over  there.     You'll  get  two  a  day." 

"  How  about  accidents  ?  "  said  a  voice.  "  You  might 
get  hurt." 

"  Oh,  there  won't  be  much  of  that,"  he  answered. 
"  They've  called  out  the  police.  Any  one  who  wants 
to  run  a  car  will  be  protected  all  right." 


SISTER  CARRIE  451 

"  You  don't  know  how  to  run  a  car,"  rejoined  the 
voice. 

"  I  won't  apply  as  a  motorman,"  he  answered.  "  I 
can  ring  up  fares  all  right." 

"  They'll  want  motormen  mostly." 

"  They'll  take  anybody ;  that  I  know." 

For  several  hours  he  argued  pro  and  con  with  this 
mental  counsellor,  feeling  no  need  to  act  at  once  in  a 
matter  so  sure  of  profit. 

In  the  morning  he  put  on  his  best  clothes,  which  were 
poor  enough,  and  began  stirring  about,  putting  some 
bread  and  meat  into  a  page  of  a  newspaper.  Carrie 
watched  him,  interested  in  this  new  move. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  she  asked. 

"  Over  to  Brooklyn,"  he  answered.  Then,  seeing  her 
still  inquisitive,  he  added :  "  I  think  I  can  get  on  over 
there." 

"  On  the  trolley  lines?  "  said  Carrie,  astonished. 

"  Yes,"  he  rejoined. 

"Aren't  you  afraid?"  she  asked. 

"  What  of?  "  he  answered.  "  The  police  are  protect- 
ing them." 

"  The  paper  said  four  men  were  hurt  yesterday." 

"  Yes,"  he  returned ;  "  but  you  can't  go  by  what  the 
papers  say.     They'll  run  the  cars  all  right." 

He  looked  rather  determined  now,  in  a  desolate  sort 
of  way,  and  Carrie  felt  very  sorry.  Something  of  the 
old  Hurstwood  was  here — the  least  shadow  of  whatwas 
once  shrewd  and  pleasant  strength.  Outside,  it  was 
cloudy  and  blowing  a  few  flakes  of  snow. 

"  What  a  day  to  go  over  there,"  thought  Carrie. 

Now  he  left  before  she  did,  which  was  a  remarkable 
thing,  and  tramped  eastward  to  Fourteenth  Street  and 
Sixth  Avenue,  where  he  took  the  car.  He  had  read 
that  scores  of  applicants  were  applying  at  the  office  of 


452  SISTER   CARRIE 

the  Brooklyn  City  Railroad  building  and  were  being 
received.  He  made  his  way  there  by  horse-car  and 
ferry — a  dark,  silent  man — to  the  offices  in  question. 
It  was  a  long  way,  for  no  cars  were  running,  and  the 
day  was  cold;  but  he  trudged  along  grimly.  Once  in 
Brooklyn,  he  could  clearly  see  and  feel  that  a  strike 
was  On.  People  showed  it  in  their  manner.  Along 
the  routes  of  certain  tracks  not  a  car  was  running. 
About  certain  corners  and  nearby  saloons  small  groups 
of  men  were  lounging.  Several  spring  wagons  passed 
him,  equipped  with  plain  wooden  chairs,  and  labelled 
"  Flatbush  "  or  "  Prospect  Park.  Fare,  Ten  Cents." 
He  noticed  cold  and  even  gloomy  faces.  Labour  was 
having  its  little  war. 

When  he  came  hear  the  office  in  question,  he  saw  a 
few  men  standing  about,  and  some  policemen.  On  the 
far  corners  were  other  men — whom  he  took  to  be  strik- 
ers— watching.  All  the  houses  were  small  and  wooden, 
the  streets  poorly  paved.  After  New  York,  Brooklyn 
looked  actually  poor  and  hard-up. 

He  made  his  way  into  the  heart  of  the  small  group, 
eyed  by  policemen  and  the  men  already  there.  One  of 
the  officers  addressed  him. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  if  I  can  get  a  place." 

"  The  offices  are  up  those  steps,"  said  the  bluecoat. 
His  face  was  a  very  neutral  thing  to  contemplate.  In. 
his  heart  of  hearts,  he  sympathised  with  the  strikers 
and  hated  this  "  scab."  In  his  heart  of  hearts,  also,  he 
felt  the  dignity  and  use  of  the  police  force,  which  com- 
manded order.  Of  its  true  social  significance,  he 
never  once  dreamed.  His  was  not  the  mind  for  that. 
The  two  feelings  blended  in  him — neutralised  one  an- 
other and  him.  He  would  have  fought  for  this  man 
as  determinedly  as  for  himself,  and  yet  only  so  far  as 


SISTER  CARRIE  453 

commanded.  Strip  him  of  his  uniform,  and  he  would 
have  soon  picked  his  side. 

Hurstwood  ascended  a  dusty  flight  of  steps  and  en- 
tered a  small,  dust-coloured  office,  in  which  were  a  rail- 
ing, a  long  desk,  and  several  clerks. 

"  Well,  sir  ?  "  said  a  middle-aged  man,  looking  up  at 
him  from  the  long  desk. 

"Do  you  want  to  hire  any  men?"  inquired  Hurst- 
wood. 

"  What  are  you — a  motorman  ?  " 

"  No ;  I'm  not  anything,"  said  Hurstwood. 

He  was  not  at  all  abashed  by  his  position.  He  knew 
these  people  needed  men.  If  one  didn't  take  him,  an- 
other would.  This  man  could  take  him  or  leave  him, 
just  as  he  chose. 

"  Well,  we  prefer  experienced  men,  of  course,"  said 
the  man.  He  paused,  while  Hurstwood  smiled  indif- 
ferently. Then  he  added :  "  Still,  I  guess  you  can  learn. 
What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Wheeler,"  said  Hurstwood. 

The  man  wrote  an  order  on  a  small  card.  "  Take  that 
to  our  barns,"  he  said,  "  and  give  it  to  the  foreman. 
He'll  show  you  what  to  do." 

Hurstwood  went  down  and  out.  He  walked  straight 
away  in  the  direction  indicated,  while  the  policemen 
looked  after. 

"  There's  another  wants  to  try  it,"  said  Officer  Kiely 
to  Officer  Macey. 

"  I  have  my  mind  he'll  get  his  fill,"  returned  the  lat- 
ter, quietly. 

They  had  been  in  strikes  before. 


CHAPTER   XLI 


THE  STRIKE 


The  barn  at  which  Hurstwood  applied  was  exceed- 
ingly short-handed,  and  was  being  operated  practically 
by  three  men  as  directors.  There  were  a  lot  of  green 
hands  around — queer,  hungry-looking  men,  who  looked 
as  if  want  had  driven  them  to  desperate  means.  They 
tried  to  be  lively  and  willing,  but  there  was  an  air  of 
hang-dog  diffidence  about  the  place. 

Hurstwood  went  back  through  the  barns  and  out 
into  a  large,  enclosed  lot,  where  were  a  series  of  tracks 
and  loops.  A  half-dozen  cars  were  there,  manned  by 
instructors,  each  with  a  pupil  at  the  lever.  More  pupils 
were  waiting  at  one  of  the  rear  doors  of  the  barn. 

In  silence  Hurstwood  viewed  this  scene,  and  waited. 
His  companions  took  his  eye  for  a  while,  though  they 
did  not  interest  him  much  more  than  the  cars.  They 
were  an  uncomfortable-looking  gang,  however.  One 
or  two  were  very  thin  and  lean.  Several  were  quite 
stout.  Several  others  were  rawboned  and  sallow,  as 
if  they  had  been  beaten  upon  by  all  sorts  of  rough 
weather. 

"  Did  you  see  by  the  paper  they  are  going  to  call  out 
the  militia?  "  Hurstwood  heard  one  of  them  remark. 

"  Oh,  they'll  do  that,"  returned  the  other.  "  They  al- 
ways do." 

"Think  we're  liable  to  have  much  trouble?"  said 
another,  whom  Hurstwood  did  not  see. 


SISTER  CARRIE  455 

"  Not  very." 

"  That  Scotchman  that  went  out  on  the  last  car,"  put 
in  a  voice,  "  told  me  that  they  hit  him  in  the  ear  with 
a  cinder." 

A  small,  nervous  laugh  accompanied  this. 

"  One  of  those  fellows  on  the  Fifth  Avenue  line  must 
have  had  a  hell  of  a  time,  according  to  the  papers," 
drawled  another.  "  They  broke  his  car  windows  and 
pulled  him  off  into  the  street  'fore  the  police  could  stop 
'em." 

"  Yes ;  but  there  are  more  police  around  to-day,"  was 
added  by  another. 

Hurstwood  hearkened  without  much  mental  com- 
ment. These  talkers  seemed  scared  to  him.  Their 
gabbling  was  feverish — things  said  to  quiet  their  own 
minds.     He  looked  out  into  the  yard  and  waited. 

Two  of  the  men  got  around  quite  near  him,  but  be- 
hind his  back.  They  were  rather  social,  and  he  listened 
to  what  they  said. 

"  Are  you  a  railroad  man?  "  said  one. 

"Me?     No.     I've  always  worked  in  a  paper  factory." 

"  I  had  a  job  in  Newark  until  last  October,"  returned 
the  other,  with  reciprocal  feeling. 

There  were  some  words  which  passed  too  low  to 
hear.     Then  the  conversation  became  strong  again. 

"  I  don't  blame  these  fellers  for  striking,"  said  one. 
"  They've  got  the  right  of  it,  all  right,  but  I  had  to  get 
something  to  do." 

"  Same  here,"  said  the  other.  "  If  I  had  any  job  in 
Newark  I  wouldn't  be  over  here  takin'  chances  like 
these." 

"  It's  hell  these  days,  ain't  it?"  said  the  man.  "A 
poor  man  ain't  nowhere.  You  could  starve,  by  God, 
right  in  the  streets,  and  there  ain't  most  no  one  would 
help  you." 


456  SISTER   CARRIE 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  the  other.  "  The  job  I  had 
I  lost  'cause  they  shut  down.  They  run  ail  summer 
and  lay  up  a  big  stock,  and  then  shut  down." 

Hurstwood  paid  some  little  attention  to  this.  Some- 
how, he  felt  a  little  superior  to  these  two — a  little  bet- 
ter off.  To  him  these  were  ignorant  and  commonplace, 
poor  sheep  in  a  driver's  hand. 

"  Poor  devils,"  he  thought,  speaking  out  of  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  bygone  period  of  success. 

"  Next,"  said  one  of  the  instructors. 

"  You're  next,"  said  a  neighbour,  touching  him. 

He  went  out  and  climbed  on  the  platform.  The  in- 
structor took  it  for  granted  that  no  preliminaries  were 
needed. 

"  You  see  this  handle,"  he  said,  reaching  up  to  an 
electric  cut-off,  which  was  fastened  to  the  roof.  "  This 
throws  the  current  off  or  on.  If  you  want  to  reverse 
the  car  you  turn  it  over  here.  If  you  want  to  send  it 
forward,  you  put  it  over  here.  If  you  want  to  cut  off 
the  power,  you  keep  it  in  the  middle." 

Hurstwood  smiled  at  the  simple  information. 

"  Now,  this  handle  here  regulates  your  speed.  To 
here,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his  finger,  "gives  you  about 
four  miles  an  hour.  This  is  eight.  When  it's  full  on, 
you  make  about  fourteen 'miles  an  hour." 

Hurstwood  watched  him  calmly.  He  had  seen 
motormen  work  before.  He  knew  just  about  how  they 
did  it,  and  was  sure  he  could  do  as  well,  with  a  very 
little  practice. 

The  instructor  explained  a  few  more  details,  and  then 
said : 

"  Now,  we'll  back  her  up." 

Hurstwood  stood  placidly  by,  while  the  car  rolled 
back  into  the  yard. 

"  One  thing  you  want  to  be  careful  about,  and  that  is 


SISTER   CARRIE  457 

to  start  easy.  Give  one  degree  time  to  act  before  you 
start  another.  The  one  fault  of  most  men  is  that  they 
always  want  to  throw  her  wide  open.  That's  bad.  It's 
dangerous,  too.  Wears  out  the  motor.  You  don't 
want  to  do  that." 

"  I  see,"  said  Hurstwood. 

He  waited  and  waited,  while  the  man  talked  on. 

"  Now  you  take  it,"  he  said,  finally. 

The  ex-manager  laid  hand  to  the  lever  and  pushed 
it  gently,  as  he  thought.  It  worked  much  easier  than 
he  imagined,  however,  with  the  result  that  the  car 
jerked  quickly  forward,  throwing  him  back  against  the 
door.  He  straightened  up  sheepishly,  while  the  instruc- 
tor stopped  the  car  with  the  brake. 

"  You  want  to  be  careful  about  that,"  was  all  he 
said. 

Hurstwood  found,  however,  that  handling  a  .brake 
and  regulating  speed  were  not  so  instantly  mastered 
as  he  had  imagined.  Once  or  twice  he  would  have 
ploughed  through  the  rear  fence  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  hand  and  word  of  his  companion.  The  latter  was 
rather  patient  with  him,  but  he  never  smiled. 

"  You've  got  to  get  the  knack  of  working  both  arms 
at  once,"  he  said.     "  It  takes  a  little  practice." 

One  o'clock  came  while  he  was  still  on  the  car  prac- 
tising, and  he  began  to  feel  hungry.  The  day  set  in 
snowing,  and  he  was  cold.  He  grew  weary  of  running 
to  and  fro  on  the  short  track. 

They  ran  the  car  to  the  end  and  both  got  off.  Hurst- 
wood went  into  the  barn  and  sought  a  car  step,  pulling 
out  his  paper-wrapped  lunch  from  his  pocket.  There 
was  no  water  and  the  bread  was  dry,  but  he  enjoyed  it. 
There  was  no  ceremony  about  dining.  He  swallowed 
and  looked  about,  contemplating  the  dull,  homely 
labour  of  the  thing.     It  was  disagreeable — miserably 


458  SISTER  CARRIE 

disagreeable — in  all  its  phases.  Not  because  it  was 
bitter,  but  because  it  was  hard.  It  would  be  hard  to 
any  one,  he  thought. 

After  eating,  he  stood  about  as  before,  waiting  until 
his  turn  came. 

The  intention  was  to  give  him  an  afternoon  of  prac- 
tice, but  the  greater  part  of  the  time  was  spent  in  wait- 
ing about. 

At  last  evening  came,  and  with  it  hunger  and  a  debate 
with  himself  as  to  how  he  should  spend  the  night.  It 
was  half-past  five.  He  must  soon  eat.  If  he  tried  to 
go  home,  it  would  take  him  two  hours  and  a  half  of  cold 
walking  and  riding.  Besides,  he  had  orders  to  report 
at  seven  the  next  morning,  and  going  home  would  ne- 
cessitate his  rising  at  an  unholy  and  disagreeable  hour. 
He  had  only  something  like  a  dollar  and  fifteen  cents 
of  Carrie's  money,  with  which  he  had  intended  to  pay 
the  two  weeks'  coal  bill  before  the  present  idea  struck 
him. 

"  They  must  have  some  place  around  here,"  he 
thought.  "  Where  does  that  fellow  from  Newark 
stay?" 

Finally  he  decided  to  ask.  There  was  a  young  fel- 
low standing  near  one  of  the  doors  in  the  cold,  waiting 
a  last  turn.  He  was  a  mere  boy  in  years — twenty-one 
about— but  with  a  body  lank  and  long,  because  of  priva- 
tion. A  little  good  living  would  have  made  this  youth 
plump  and  swaggering. 

"  How  do  they  arrange  this,  if  a  man  hasn't  any 
money?"  inquired  Hurstwood,  discreetly. 

The  fellow  turned  a  keen,  watchful  face  on  the  in- 
quirer. 

"  You  mean  eat?  "  he  replied. 

"  Yes,  and  sleep.  I  can't  go  back  to  New  York  to- 
night," 


SISTER   CARRIE  459 

"  The  foreman  '11  fix  that  if  you  ask  him,  I  guess.  He 
did  me." 

"That  so?" 

"  Yes.  I  just  told  him  I  didn't  have  anything.  Gee, 
I  couldn't  go  home.     I  live  way  over  in  Hoboken." 

Hurstwood  only  cleared  his  throat  by  way  of  ac- 
knowledgment. 

"  They've  got  a  place  upstairs  here,  I  understand.  I 
don't  know  what  sort  of  a  thing  it  is.  Purty  tough,  I 
guess.  He  gave  me  a  meal  ticket  this  noon.  I  know 
that  wasn't  much." 

Hurstwood  smiled  grimly,  and  the  boy  laughed. 

"  It  ain't  no  fun,  is  it?  "  he  inquired,  wishing  vainly 
for  a  cheery  reply. 

"  Not  much,"  answered  Hurstwood. 

"  I'd  tackle  him  now,"  volunteered  the  youth.  "  He 
may  go  'way." 

Hurstwood  did  so. 

"  Isn't  there  some  place  I  can  stay  around  here  to- 
night?" he  inquired.  "If  I  have  to  go  back  to  New 
York,  I'm  afraid  I  won't " 

"  There're  some  cots  upstairs,"  interrupted  the  man, 
"  if  you  want  one  of  them." 

"  That'll  do,"  he  assented. 

He  meant  to  ask  for  a  meal  ticket,  but  the  seemingly 
proper  moment  never  came,  and  he  decided  to  pay 
himself  that  night. 

"  I'll  ask  him  in  the  morning." 

He  ate  in  a  cheap  restaurant  in  the  vicinity,  and, 
being  cold  and  lonely,  went  straight  off  to  seek  the  loft 
in  question.  The  company  was  not  attempting  to  run 
cars  after  nightfall.     It  was  so  advised  by  the  police. 

The  room  seemed  to  have  been  a  lounging  place  for 
night  workers.  There  were  some  nine  cots  in  the  place, 
two  or  three  wooden  chairs,  a  soap  box,  and  a  small, 


460  SISTER   CARRIE 

round-bellied  stove,  in  which  a  fire  was  blazing.  Early 
as  he  was,  another  man  was  there  before  him.  The 
latter  was  sitting  beside  the  stove  warming  his  hands. 

Hurstwood  approached  and  held  out  his  own  toward 
the  fire.  He  was  sick  of  the  bareness  and  privation  of 
all  things  connected  with  his  venture,  but  was  steeling 
himself  to  hold  out.     He  fancied  he  could  for  a  while. 

"  Cold,  isn't  it?  "  said  the  early  guest. 

"Rather." 

A  long  silence. 

"Not  much  of  a  place  to  sleep  in,  is  it?"  said  the 
man. 

"  Better  than  nothing,"  replied  Hurstwood. 

Another  silence. 

"  I  believe  I'll  turn  in,"  said  the  man. 

Rising,  he  went  to  one  of  the  cots  and  stretched  him- 
self, removing  only  his  shoes,  and  pulling  the  one  blan- 
ket and  dirty  old  comforter  over  him  in  a  sort  of  bundle. 
The  sight  disgusted  Hurstwood,  but  he  did  not  dwell 
on  it,  choosing  to  gaze  into  the  stove  and  think  of  some- 
thing else.  Presently  he  decided  to  retire,  and  picked 
a  cot,  also  removing  his  shoes. 

While  he  was  doing  so,  the  youth  who  had  advised 
him  to  come  here  entered,  and,  seeing  Hurstwood,  tried 
to  be  genial. 

"  Better'n  nothin',"  he  observed,  looking  around. 

Hurstwood  did  not  take  this  to  himself.  He  thought 
it  to  be  an  expression  of  individual  satisfaction,  and  so 
did  not  answer.  The  youth  imagined  he  was  out  of 
sorts,  and  set  to  whistling  softly.  Seeing  another  man 
asleep,  he  quit  that  and  lapsed  into  silence. 

Hurstwood  made  the  best  of  a  bad  lot  by  keeping  on 
his  clothes  and  pushing  away  the  dirty  covering  from 
his  head,  but  at  last  he  dozed  in  sheer  weariness.  The 
covering  became  more  and  more  comfortable,  its  char- 


SISTER  CARRIE  461 

acter  was  forgotten,  and  he  pulled  it  about  his  neck  and 
slept. 

In  the  morning  he  was  aroused  out  of  a  pleasant 
dream  by  several  men  stirring  about  in  the  cold,  cheerless 
room.  He  had  been  back  in  Chicago  in  fancy,  in  his 
own  comfortable  home.  Jessica  had  been  arranging 
to  go  somewhere,  and  he  had  been  talking  with  her 
about  it.  This  was  so  clear  in  his  mind,  that  he  was 
startled  now  by  the  contrast  of  this  room.  He  raised 
his  head,  and  the  cold,  bitter  reality  jarred  him  into 
wakefulness. 

"  Guess  I'd  better  get  up,"  he  said. 

There  was  no  water  on  this  floor.  He  put  on  his  shoes 
in  the  cold  and  stood  up,  shaking  himself  in  his  stiffness. 
His  clothes  felt  disagreeable,  his  hair  bad. 

"  Hell !  "  he  muttered,  as  he  put  on  his  hat. 

Downstairs  things  were  stirring  again. 

He  found  a  hydrant,  with  a  trough  which  had  once 
been  used  for  horses,  but  there  was  no  towel  here*  and 
his  handkerchief  was  soiled  from  yesterday.  He  con- 
tented himself  with  wetting  his  eyes  with  the  ice-cold 
water.  Then  he  sought  the  foreman,  who  was  already 
on  the  ground. 

"  Had  your  breakfast  yet?  "  inquired  that  worthy. 

"  No,"  said  Hurstwood. 

"  Better  get  it,  then  j  your  car  won't  be  ready  for  a 
little  while." 

Hurstwood  hesitated. 

"Could  you  let  me  have  a  meal  ticket?"  he  asked, 
with  an  effort. 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  the  man,  handing  him  one. 

He  breakfasted  as  poorly  as  the  night  before  on  some 
fried  steak  and  bad  coffee.     Then  he  went  back. 

"  Here,"  said  the  foreman,  motioning  him,  when  he 
came  in.     "  You  take  this  car  out  in  a  few  minutes." 


462  SISTER  CARRIE 

Hurstwood  climbed  up  on  the  platform  in  the  gloomy- 
barn  and  waited  for  a  signal.  He  was  nervous,  and  yet 
the  thing  was  a  relief.  Anything  was  better  than  the 
barn. 

On  this  the  fourth  day  of  the  strike,  the  situation  had 
taken  a  turn  for  the  worse.  The  strikers,. following  the 
counsel  of  their  leaders  and  the  newspapers,  had  strug- 
gled peaceably  enough.  There  had  been  no  great 
violence  done.  Cars  had  been  stopped,  it  is  true,  and 
the  men  argued  with.  Some  crews  had  been  won  over 
and  led  away,  some  windows  broken,  some  jeering  and 
yelling  done ;  but  in  no  more  than  five  or  six  instances 
had  men  been  seriously  injured.  These  by  crowds 
whose  acts  the  leaders  disclaimed. 

Idleness,  however,  and  the  sight  of  the  company, 
backed  by  the  police,  triumphing,  angered  the  men. 
They  saw  that  each  day  more  cars  were  going  on,  each 
day  more  declarations  were  being  made  by  the  com- 
pany officials  that  the  effective  opposition  of  the  strikers 
was  broken.  This  put  desperate  thoughts  in  the  minds 
of  the  men.  Peaceful  methods  meant,  they  saw,  that 
the  companies  would  soon  run  all  their  cars  and  those 
who  had  complained  would  be  forgotten.  There  was 
nothing  so  helpful  to  the  companies  as  peaceful 
methods. 

All  at  once  they  blazed  forth,  and  for  a  week  there 
was  storm  and  stress.  Cars  were  assailed,  men  at- 
tacked, policemen  struggled  with,  tracks  torn  up,  and 
shots  fired,  until  at  last  street  fights  and  mob  move- 
ments became  frequent,  and  the  city  was  invested  with 
militia. 

Hurstwood  knew  nothing  of  the  change  of  temper. 

"  Run  your  car  out,"  called  the  foreman,  waving  a 
vigorous  hand  at  him.  A  green  conductor  jumped  up 
behind  and  rang  the  bell  twice  as  a  signal  to  start. 


SISTER   CARRIE  463 

Hurstwood  turned  the  lever  and  ran  the  car  out 
through  the  door  into  the  street  in  front  of  the  barn. 
Here  two  brawny  policemen  got  up  beside  him  on  the 
platform — one  on  either  hand. 

At  the  sound  of  a  gong  near  the  barn  door,  two  bells 
were  given  by  the  conductor  and  Hurstwood  opened 
his  lever. 

The  two  policemen  looked  about  them  calmly. 

"  'Tis  cold,  all  right,  this  morning,"  said  the  one  on 
the  left,  who  possessed  a  rich  brogue. 

"  I  had  enough  of  it  yesterday,"  said  the  other.  "  I 
wouldn't  want  a  steady  job  of  this." 

"Nor  I." 

Neither  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  Hurstwood, 
who  stood  facing  the  cold  wind,  which  was  chilling 
him  completely,  and  thinking  of  his  orders. 

"  Keep  a  steady  gait,"  the  foreman  had  said.  "  Don't 
stop  for  any  one  who  doesn't  look  like  a  real  passenger. 
Whatever  you  do,  don't  stop  for  a  crowd." 

The  two  officers  kept  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"  The  last  man  must  have  gone  through  all  right/' 
said  the  officer  on  the  left.  "  I  don't  see  his  car  any- 
where." 

"Who's  on  there?"  asked  the  second  officer,  refer- 
ring, of  course,  to  its  complement  of  policemen. 

"  Schaeffer  and  Ryan." 

There  was  another  silence,  in  which  the  car  ran 
smoothly  along.  There  were  not  so  many  houses  along 
this  part  of  the  way.  Hurstwood  did  not  see  many 
people  either.  The  situation  was  not  wholly  disagree- 
able to  him.  If  he  were  not  so  cold,  he  thought  he 
would  do  well  enough. 

He  was  brought  out  of  this  feeling  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  a  curve  ahead,  which  he  had  not  expected. 
He  shut  off  the  current  and  did  an  energetic  turn  at  the 


464  SISTER  CARRIE 

brake,  but  not  in  time  to  avoid  an  unnaturally  quick 
turn.  It  shook  him  up  and  made  him  feel  like  making 
some  apologetic  remarks,  but  he  refrained. 

"  You  want  to  look  out  for  them  things,"  said  the 
officer  on  the  left,  condescendingly. 

"  That's  right,"  agreed  Hurstwood,  shamefacedly. 

"  There's  lots  of  them  on  this  line,"  said  the  officer 
on  the  right. 

Around  the  corner  a  more  populated  way  appeared. 
One  or  two  pedestrians  were  in  view  ahead.  A  boy 
coming  out  of  a  gate  with  a  tin  milk  bucket  gave  Hurst- 
wood his  first  objectionable  greeting. 

"  Scab  !  "  he  yelled.     "  Scab  !  " 

Hurstwood  heard  it,  but  tried  to  make  no  comment, 
even  to  himself.  He  knew  he  would  get  that,  and  much 
more  of  the  same  sort,  probably. 

At  a  corner  farther  up  a  man  stood  by  the  track  and 
signalled  the  car  to  stop. 

"  Never  mind  him,"  said  one  of  the  officers.  "  He's 
up  to  some  game." 

Hurstwood  obeyed.  At  the  corner  he  saw  the  wis- 
dom of  it.  No  sooner  did  the  man  perceive  the  inten- 
tion to  ignore  him,  than  he  shook  his  fist. 

"  Ah,  you  bloody  coward  !  "  he  yelled. 

Some  half  dozen  men,  standing  on  the  corner,  flung 
taunts  and  jeers  after  the  speeding  car. 

Hurstwood  winced  the  least  bit.'  The  real  thing 
was  slightly  worse  than  the  thoughts  of  it  had  been. 

Now  came  in  sight,  three  or  four  blocks  farther  on, 
a  heap  of  something  on  the  track. 

"  They've  been  at  work,  here,  all  right,"  said  one  of 
the  policemen. 

"  We'll  have  an  argument,  maybe,"  said  the  other. 

Hurstwood  ran  the  car  close  and  stopped.  He  had 
not  done  so  wholly,  however,  before  a  crowd  gathered 


SISTER   CARRIE  465 

about.  It  was  composed  of  ex-motormen  and  con- 
ductors in  part,  with  a  sprinkling  of  friends  and  sym- 
pathisers. 

"  Come  off  the  car,  pardner,"  said  one  of  the  men  in 
a  voice  meant  to  be  conciliatory.  V.  You  don't  want  to 
take  the  bread  out  of  another  man's  mouth,  do  you?  " 

Hurstwood  held  to  his  brake  and  lever,  pale  and  very 
uncertain  what  to  do. 

"  Stand  back,"  yelled  one  of  the  officers,  leaning  over 
the  platform  railing.  "  Clear  out  of  this,  now.  Give 
the  man  a  chance  to  do  his  work." 

'*  Listen,  pardner,"  said  the  leader,  ignoring  the 
policeman  and  addressing  Hurstwood.  "  We're  all 
working  men,  like  yourself.  If  you  were  a  regular 
motorman,  and  had  been  treated  as  we've  been,  you 
wouldn't  want  any  one  to  come  in  and  take  your  place, 
would  you?  You  wouldn't  want  any  one  to  do  you 
out  of  your  chance  to  get  your  rights,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Shut  her  off !  shut  her  off !  "  urged  the  other  of  the 
policemen,  roughly.  "  Get  out  of  this,  now,"  and  he 
jumped  the  railing  and  landed  before  the  crowd  and 
began  shoving.  Instantly  the  other  officer  was  down 
beside  him. 

"  Stand  back,  now,"  they  yelled.  "  Get  out  of  this. 
What  the  hell  do  you  mean  ?     Out,  now." 

It  was  like  a  small  swarm  of  bees. 

"  Don't  shove  me,"  said  one  of  the  strikers,  deter- 
minedly.    "  I'm  not  doing  anything." 

"  Get  out  of  this ! "  cried  the  officer,  swinging  his 
club.     "  I'll  give  ye  a  bat  on  the  sconce.     Back,  now." 

"  What  the  hell !  "  cried  another  of  the  strikers,  push- 
ing the  other  way,  adding  at  the  same  time  some  lusty 
oaths. 

Crack  came  an  officer's  club  on  his  forehead.  He 
blinked  his  eyes  blindly  a  few  times,  wabbled  on  his 
30 


466  SISTER  CARRIE 

legs,  threw  up  his  hands,  and  staggered  back.  In  re- 
turn, a  swift  fist  landed  on  the  officer's  neck. 

Infuriated  by  this,  the  latter  plunged  left  and  right, 
laying  about  madly  with  his  club.  He  was  ably  as- 
sisted by  his  brother  of  the  blue,  who  poured  ponderous 
oaths  upon  the  troubled  waters.  No  severe  damage 
was  done,  owing  to  the  agility  of  the  strikers  in  keep- 
ing out  of  reach.  They  stood  about  the  sidewalk  now 
and  jeered. 

"  Where  is  the  conductor?  "  yelled  one  of  the  officers, 
getting  his  eye  on  that  individual,  who  had  come  ner- 
vously forward  to  stand  by  Hurstwood.  The  latter 
had  stood  gazing  upon  the  scene  with  more  astonish- 
ment than  fear. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  down  here  and  get  these 
stones  off  the  track  ?  "  inquired  the  officer.  "  What 
you  standing  there  for  ?  Do  you  want  to  stay  here  all 
day?     Get  down." 

Hurstwood  breathed  heavily  in  excitement  and 
jumped  down  with  the  nervous  conductor  as  if  he  had 
been  called. 

"  Hurry  up,  now,"  said  the  other  policeman. 

Cold  as  it  was,  these  officers  were  hot  and  mad. 
Hurstwood  worked  with  the  conductor,  lifting  stone 
after  stone  and  warming  himself  by  the  work. 

"  Ah,  you  scab,  you ! "  yelled  the  crowd.  "  You 
coward!  Steal  a  man's  job,  will  you?  Rob  the  poor, 
will  you,  you  thief?    We'll  get  you  yet,  now.     Wait." 

Not  all  of  this  was  delivered  by  one  man.  It  came 
from  here  and  there,  incorporated  with  much  more  of 
the  same  sort  and  curses. 

"  Work,  you  blackguards,"  yelled  a  voice.  "  Do  the 
dirty  work.  You're  the  suckers  that  keep  the  poor 
people  down !  " 

"  May  God  starve  ye  yet,"  yelled  an  old  Irish  woman, 


SISTER  CARRIE  467 

who  now  threw  open  a  nearby  window  and  stuck  out 
her  head. 

"  Yes,  and  you,"  she  added,  catching  the  eye  of  one 
of  the  policemen.  "  You  bloody,  murtherin'  thafe ! 
Crack  my  son  over  the  head,  will  you,  you  hard- 
hearted, murtherin'  divil?    Ah,  ye " 

But  the  officer  turned  a  deaf  ear. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,  you  old  hag,"  he  half  muttered  as 
he  stared  round  upon  the  scattered  company. 

Now  the  stones  were  off,  and  Hurstwood  took  his 
place  again  amid  a  continued  chorus  of  epithets.  Both 
officers  got  up  beside  him  and  the  conductor  rang  the 
bell,  when,  bang!  bang!  through  window  and  door 
came  rocks  and  stones.  One  narrowly  grazed  Hurst- 
wood's  head.     Another  shattered  the  window  behind. 

"  Throw  open  your  lever,"  yelled  one  of  the  officers, 
grabbing  at  the  handle  himself. 

Hurstwood  complied  and  the  car  shot  away,  followed 
by  a  rattle  of  stones  and  a  rain  of  curses. 

"  That hit  me  in  the  neck,"  said  one  of 

the  officers.     "  I  gave  him  a  good  crack  for  it,  though." 

"  I  think  I  must  have  left  spots  on  some  of  them," 
said  the  other. 

"  I  know  that  big  guy  that  called  us  a ," 

said  the  first.     "  I'll  get  him  yet  for  that." 

"  I  thought  we  were  in  for  it  sure,  once  there,"  said 
the  second. 

Hurstwood,  warmed  and  excited,  gazed  steadily 
ahead.  It  was  an  astonishing  experience  for  him.  He 
had  read  of  these  things,  but  the  reality  seemed  some- 
thing altogether  new.  He  was  no  coward  in  spirit. 
The  fact  that  he  had  suffered  this  much  now  rather 
operated  to  arouse  a  stolid  determination  to  stick  it 
out.  He  did  not  recur  in  thought  to  New  York  or  the 
flat.     This  one  trip  seemed  a  consuming  thing. 


468  SISTER  CARRIE 

They  now  ran  into  the  business  heart  of  Brooklyn 
uninterrupted.  People  gazed  at  the  broken  windows 
of  the  car  and  at  Hurstwood  in  his  plain  clothes. 
Voices  called  "  scab  "  now  and  then,  as  well  as  other 
epithets,  but  no  crowd  attacked  the  car.  At  the  down- 
town end  of  the  line,  one  of  the  officers  went  to  call  up 
his  station  and  report  the  trouble. 

"There's  a  gang  out  there,"  he  said,  "laying  for  us  yet. 
Better  send  some  one  over  there  and  clean  them  out." 

The  car  ran  back  more  quietly — hooted,  watched, 
flung  at,  but  not  attacked.  Hurstwood  breathed  freely 
when  he  saw  the  barns. 

"  Well,"  he  observed  to  himself,  "  I  came  out  of  that 
all  right." 

The  car  was  turned  in  and  he  was  allowed  to  loaf 
a  while,  but  later  he  was  again  called.  This  time  a  new 
team  of  officers  was  aboard.  Slightly  more  confident, 
he  sped  the  car  along  the  commonplace  streets  and  felt 
somewhat  less  fearful.  On  one  side,  however,  he  suf- 
fered intensely.  The  day  was  raw,  with  a  sprinkling 
of  snow  and  a  gusty  wind,  made  all  the  more  intoler- 
able by  the  speed  of  the  car.  His  clothing  was  not  in- 
tended for  this  sort  of  work.  He  shivered,  stamped  his 
feet,  and  beat  his  arms  as  he  had  seen  other  motormen 
do  in  the  past,  but  said  nothing.  The  novelty  and  danger 
of  the  situation  modified  in  a  way  his  disgust  and  distress 
at  being  compelled  to  be  here,  but  not  enough  to  prevent 
him  from  feeling  grim  and  sour.  This  was  a  dog's  life, 
he  thought.     It  was  a  tough  thing  to  have  to  come  to. 

The  one  thought  that  strengthened  him  was  the  insult 
offered  by  Carrie.  He  was  not  down  so  low  as  to  take 
all  that,  he  thought.  He  could  do  something — this, 
even — for  a  while.  It  would  get  better.  He  would 
save  a  little. 

A  boy  threw  a  clod  of  mud  while  he  was  thus  re- 


SISTER  CARRIE  469 

fleeting  and  hit  him  upon  the  arm.  It  hurt  sharply  and 
angered  him  more  than  he  had  been  any  time  since 
morning. 

"  The  little  cur !  "  he  muttered. 

"  Hurt  you  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  policemen. 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

At  one  of  the  corners,  where  the  car  slowed  up  be- 
cause of  a  turn,  an  ex-motorman,  standing  on  the  side- 
walk, called  to  him : 

"  Won't  you  come  out,  pardner,  and  be  a  man?  Re- 
member we're  fighting  for  decent  day's  wages,  that's 
all.  We've  got  families  to  support."  The  man  seemed 
most  peaceably  inclined. 

Hurstwood  pretended  not  to  see  him.  He  kept  his 
eyes  straight  on  before  and  opened  the  lever  wide.  The 
voice  had  something  appealing  in  it. 

All  morning  this  went  on  and  long  into  the  after- 
noon. He  made  three  such  trips.  The  dinner  he  had 
was  no  stay  for  such  work  and  the  cold  was  telling  on 
him.  At  each  end  of  the  line  he  stopped  to  thaw  out, 
but  he  could  have  groaned  at  the  anguish  of  it.  One 
of  the  barnmen,  out  of  pity,  loaned  him  a  heavy  cap 
and  a  pair  of  sheepskin  gloves,  and  for  once  he  was 
extremely  thankful. 

On  the  second  trip  of  the  afternoon  he  ran  into  a 
crowd  about  half  way  along  the  line,  that  had  blocked 
the  car's  progress  with  an  old  telegraph  pole. 

"  Get  that  thing  off  the  track,"  shouted  the  two 
policemen. 

"Yah,  yah,  yah!"  yelled  the  crowd.  "Get  it  off 
yourself." 

The  two  policemen  got  down  and  Hurstwood  started 
to  follow. 

"  You  stay  there,"  one  called.  "  Some  one  will  run 
away  with  your  car." 


470  SISTER   CARRIE 

Amid  the  babel  of  voices,  Hurstwood  heard  one  close 
beside  him. 

"  Come  down,  pardner,  and  be  a  man.  Don't  fight 
the  poor.     Leave  that  to  the  corporations." 

He  saw  the  same  fellow  who  had  called  to  him  from 
the  corner.  Now,  as  before,  he  pretended  not  to  hear 
him. 

"  Come  down,"  the  man  repeated  gently.  "  You 
don't  want  to  fight  poor  men.  Don't  fight  at  all."  It 
was  a  most  philosophic  and  Jesuitical  motorman. 

A  third  policeman  joined  the  other  two  from  some- 
where and  some  one  ran  to  telephone  for  more  officers. 
Hurstwood  gazed  about,  determined  but  fearful. 

A  man  grabbed  him  by  the  coat. 

"  Come  off  of  that,"  he  exclaimed,  jerking  at  him  and 
trying  to  pull  him  over  the  railing. 

"  Let  go,"  said  Hurstwood,  savagely. 

"  I'll  show  you — you  scab  !  "  cried  a  young  Irishman, 
jumping  up  on  the  car  and  aiming  a  blow  at  Hurst- 
wood. The  latter  ducked  and  caught  it  on  the  shoulder 
instead  of  the  jaw. 

"  Away  from  here,"  shouted  an  officer,  hastening  to 
the  rescue,  and  adding,  of  course,  the  usual  oaths. 

Hurstwood  recovered  himself,  pale  and  trembling. 
It  was  becoming  serious  with  him  now.  People  were 
looking  up  and  jeering  at  him.  One  girl  was  making 
faces. 

He  began  to  waver  in  his  resolution,  when  a  patrol 
wagon  rolled  up  and  more  officers  dismounted.  Now 
the  track  was  quickly  cleared  and  the  release  effected. 

"  Let  her  go  now,  quick,"  said  the  officer,  and  again 
he  was  off. 

The  end  came  with  a  real  mob,  which  met  the  car 
on  its  return  trip  a  mile  or  two  from  the  barns.  It 
was  an  exceedingly  poor-looking  neighbourhood.     He 


SISTER  CARRIE  47 1 

wanted  to  run  fast  through  it,  but  again  the  track  was 
blocked.  He  saw  men  carrying  something  out  to  it 
when  he  was  yet  a  half-dozen  blocks  away. 

"  There  they  are  again !  "  exclaimed  one  policeman. 

"  I'll  give  them  something  this  time,"  said  the  sec- 
ond officer,  whose  patience  was  becoming  worn. 
Hurstwood  suffered  a  qualm  of  body  as  the  car  rolled 
up.  As  before,  the  crowd  began  hooting,  but  now,  rather 
than  come  near,  they  threw  things.  One  or  two  windows 
were  smashed  and  Hurstwood  dodged  a  stone. 

Both  policemen  ran  out  toward  the  crowd,  but  the 
latter  replied  by  running  toward  the  car.  A  woman — 
a  mere  girl  in  appearance — was  among  these,  bearing 
a  rough  stick.  She  was  exceedingly  wrathful  and 
struck  at  Hurstwood,  who  dodged.  Thereupon,  her 
companions,  duly  encouraged,  jumped  on  the  car  and 
pulled  Hurstwood  over.  He  had  hardly  time  to  speak 
or  shout  before  he  fell. 

"  Let  go  of  me,"  he  said,  falling  on  his  side. 

"  Ah,  you  sucker,"  he  heard  some  one  say.  Kicks 
and  blows  rained  on  him.  He  seemed  to  be  suffocating. 
Then  two  men  seemed  to  be  dragging  him  off  and  he 
wrestled  for  freedom. 

"  Let  up,"  said  a  voice,  "  you're  all  right.     Stand  up." 

He  was  let  loose  and  recovered  himself.  Now  he 
recognised  two  officers.  He  felt  as  if  he  would  faint 
from  exhaustion.  Something  was  wet  on  his  chin. 
He  put  up  his  hand  and  felt,  then  looked.     It  was  red. 

"  They  cut  me,"  he  said,  foolishly,  fishing  for  his 
handkerchief. 

"  Now,  now,"  said  one  of  the  officers.  "  It's  only  a 
scratch." 

His  senses  became  cleared  now  and  he  looked  around. 
He  was  standing  in  a  little  store,  where  they  left  him 
for  the  moment.     Outside,  he  could  see,  as  he  stood 


472  SISTER  CARRIE 

wiping  his  chin^  the  car  and  the  excited  crowd.  A 
patrol  wagon  was  there,  and  another. 

He  walked  over  and  looked  out.  It  was  an  ambu- 
lance, backing  in. 

He  saw  some  energetic  charging  by  the  police  and 
arrests  being  made. 

"  Come  on,  now,  if  you  want  to  take  your  car,"  said 
an  officer,  opening  the  door  and  looking  in. 

He  walked  out,  feeling  rather  uncertain  of  himself. 
He  was  very  cold  and  frightened. 

"Where's  the  conductor?"  he  asked. 

■'  Oh,  he's  not  here  now,"  said  the  policeman. 

Hurstwood  went  toward  the  car  and  stepped  ner- 
vously on.  As  he  did  so  there  was  a  pistol  shot. 
Something  stung  his  shoulder. 

"  Who  fired  that?  "  he  heard  an  officer  exclaim.  "  By 
God !  who  did  that  ?  "  Both  left  him,  running  toward 
a  certain  building.  He  paused  a  moment  and  then  got 
down. 

"  George !  "  exclaimed  Hurstwood,  weakly,  "  this  is 
too  much  for  me." 

He  walked  nervously  to  the  corner  and  hurried  down 
a  side  street. 

"  Whew !  "  he  said,  drawing  in  his  breath. 

A  half  block  away,  a  small  girl  gazed  at  him. 

"  You'd  better  sneak,"  she  called. 

He  walked  homeward  in  a  blinding  snowstorm, 
reaching  the  ferry  by  dusk.  The  cabins  were  filled 
with  comfortable  souls,  who  studied  him  curiously.  His 
head  was  still  in  such  a  whirl  that  he  felt  confused.  All 
the  wonder  of  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  river  in  a  white 
storm  passed  for  nothing.  He  trudged  doggedly  on  until 
he  reached  the  flat.  There  he  entered  and  found  the 
room  warm.  Carrie  was  gone.  A  couple  of  evening 
papers  were  lying  on  the  table  where  she  left  them.     He 


SISTER  CARRIE  473 

lit  the  gas  and  sat  down.  Then  he  got  up  and  stripped 
to  examine  his  shoulder.  It  was  a  mere  scratch.  He 
washed  his  hands  and  face,  still  in  a  brown  study,  ap- 
parently, and  combed  his  hair.  Then  he  looked  for  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  finally,  'his  hunger  gone,  sat  down  in 
his  comfortable  rocking-chair.  It  was  a  wonderful 
relief. 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  chin,  forgetting,  for  the  mo- 
ment, the  papers. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  time,  his  nature  recovering 
itself,  "  that's  a  pretty  tough  game  over  there." 

Then  he  turned  and  saw  the  papers.  With  half  a 
sigh  he  picked  up  the  "  World." 

"  Strike  Spreading  in  Brooklyn,"  he  read.  "  Rioting 
Breaks  Out  in  all  Parts  of  the  City." 

He  adjusted  his  paper  very  comfortably  and  con- 
tinued. It  was  the  one  thing  he  read  with  absorbing 
interest. 


CHAPTER    XLII 
A  TOUCH  of  spring:  the  empty  shell 

Those  who  look  upon  Hurstwood's  Brooklyn  ven- 
ture as  an  error  of  judgment  will  none  the  less  realise 
the  negative  influence  on  him  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
tried  and  failed.  Carrie  got  a  wrong  idea  of  it.  He 
said  so  little  that  she  imagined  he  had  encountered 
nothing  worse  than  the  ordinary  roughness — quitting 
so  soon  in  the  face  of  this  seemed  trifling.  He  did  not 
want  to  work. 

She  was  now  one  of  a  group  of  oriental  beauties  who, 
in  the  second  act  of  the  comic  opera,  were  paraded  by 
the  vizier  before  the  new  potentate  as  the  treasures  of 
his  harem.  There  was  no  word  assigned  to  any  of 
them,  but  on  the  evening  when  Hurstwood  was  hous- 
ing himself  in  the  loft  of  the  street-car  barn,  the  lead- 
ing comedian  and  star,  feeling  exceedingly  facetious, 
said  in  a  profound  voice,  which  created  a  ripple  of 
laughter : 

"Well,  who  are  you?" 

It  merely  happened  to  be  Carrie  who  was  courtesying 
before  him.  It  might  as  well  have  been  any  of  the 
others,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  He  expected  no 
answer  and  a  dull  one  would  have  been  reproved. 
But  Carrie,  whose  experience  and  belief  in  herself  gave 
her  daring,  courtesied  sweetly  again  and  answered : 

"  I  am  yours  truly." 

It  was  a  trivial  thing  to  say,  and  yet  something  in 


SISTER  CARRIE  475 

the  way  she  did  it  caught  the  audience,  which  laughed 
heartily  at  the  mock-fierce  potentate  towering  before 
the  young  woman.  The  comedian  also  liked  it,  hear- 
ing the  laughter. 

"  I  thought  your  name  was  Smith,"  he  returned,  en- 
deavouring to  get  the  last  laugh. 

Carrie  almost  trembled  for  her  daring  after  she  had 
said  this.  All  members  of  the  company  had  been 
warned  that  to  interpolate  lines  or  "  business  "  meant 
a  fine  or  worse.     She  did  not  know  what  to  think. 

As  she  was  standing  in  her  proper  position  in  the 
wings,  awaiting  another  entry,  the  great  comedian 
made  his  exit  past  her  and  paused  in  recognition. 

"  You  can  just  leave  that  in  hereafter,"  he  remarked, 
seeing  how  intelligent  she  appeared.  "  Don't  add  any 
more,  though." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Carrie,  humbly.  When  he  went 
on  she  found  herself  trembling  violently. 

"  Well,  you're  in  luck,"  remarked  another  member  of 
the  chorus.  "  There  isn't  another  one  of  us  has  got  a 
line." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  the  value  of  this.  Every- 
body in  the  company  realised  that  she  had  got  a  start. 
Carrie  hugged  herself  when  next  evening  the  lines  got 
the  same  applause.  She  went  home  rejoicing,  knowing 
that  soon  something  must  come  of  it.  It  was  Hurst- 
wood  who,  by  his  presence,  caused  her  merry  thoughts 
to  flee  and  replaced  them  with  sharp  longings  for  an 
end  of  distress. 

The  next  day  she  asked  him  about  his  venture. 

"  They're  not  trying  to  run  any  cars  except  with 
police.  They  don't  want  anybody  just  now — not  be- 
fore next  week." 

Next  week  came,  but  Carrie  saw  no  change.  Hurst- 
wood  seemed  more  apathetic  than  ever.     He  saw  her 


476  SISTER  CARRIE 

off  mornings  to  rehearsals  and  the  like  with  the  utmost 
calm.  He  read  and  read.  Several  times  he  found  him- 
self staring  at  an  item,  but  thinking  of  something  else. 
The  first  of  these  lapses  that  he  sharply  noticed  con- 
cerned a  hilarious  party  he  had  once  attended  at  a 
driving  club,  of  which  he  had  been  a  member.  He  sat, 
gazing  downward,  and  gradually  thought  he  heard  the 
old  voices  and  the  clink  of  glasses. 

"  You're  a  dandy,  Hurstwood,"  his  friend  Walker 
said.  He  was  standing  again  well  dressed,  smiling, 
good-natured,  the  recipient  of  encores  for  a  good  story. 

All  at  once  he  looked  up.  The  room  was  so  still  it 
seemed  ghostlike.  He  heard  the  clock  ticking  audibly 
and  half  suspected  that  he  had  been  dozing.  The 
paper  was  so  straight  in  his  hands,  however,  and  the 
items  he  had  been  reading  so  directly  before  him,  that 
he  rid  himself  of  the  doze  idea.  Still,  it  seemed  pecu- 
liar. When  it  occurred  a  second  time,  however,  it  did 
not  seem  quite  so  strange. 

Butcher  and  grocery  man,  baker  and  coal  man — not 
the  group  with  whom  he  was  then  dealing,  but  those 
who  had  trusted  him  to  the  limit — called.  He  met 
them  all  blandly,  becoming  deft  in  excuse.  At  last  he 
became  bold,  pretended  to  be  out,  or  waved  them  off. 

"  They  can't  get  blood  out  of  a  turnip,"  he  said.  "  If 
I  had  it  I'd  pay  them." 

Carrie's  little  soldier  friend,  Miss  Osborne,  seeing 
her  succeeding,  had  become  a  sort  of  satellite.  Little 
Osborne  could  never  of  herself  amount  to  anything. 
She  seemed  to  realise  it  in  a  sort  of  pussy-like  way 
and  instinctively  concluded  to  cling  with  her  soft  little 
claws  to  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  you'll  get  up,"  she  kept  telling  Carrie  with 
admiration.     "  You're  so  good." 

Timid  as  Carrie  was,  she  was  strong  in  capability. 


SISTER  CARRIE  477 

The  reliance  of  others  made  her  feel  as  if  she  must,  and 
when  she  must  she  dared.  Experience  of  the  world 
and  of  necessity  was  in  her  favour.  No  longer  the 
lightest  word  of  a  man  made  her  head  dizzy.  She  had 
learned  that  men  could  change  and  fail.  Flattery  in  its 
most  palpable  form  had  lost  its  force  with  her.  It  re- 
quired superiority — kindly  superiority — to  move  her — 
the  superiority  of  a  genius  like  Ames. 

"  I  don't  like  the  actors  in  our  company,"  she  told 
Lola  one  day.     '*  They're  all  so  struck  on  themselves." 

"Don't  you  think  Mr.  Barclay's  pretty  nice?"  in- 
quired Lola,  who  had  received  a  condescending  smile 
or  two  from  that  quarter. 

"  Oh,  he's  nice  enough,"  answered  Carrie ;  "  but  he 
isn't  sincere.     He  assumes  such  an  air." 

Lola  felt  for  her  first  hold  upon  Carrie  in  the  follow- 
ing manner: 

"Are  you  paying  room-rent  where  you  are?" 

"Certainly,"  answered  Carrie.     "Why?" 

"  I  know  where  I  could  get  the  loveliest  room  and 
bath,  cheap.  It's  too  big  for  me,  but  it  would  be  just 
right  for  two,  and  the  rent  is  only  six  dollars  a  week 
for  both." 

"Where?"  said  Carrie. 

"  In  Seventeenth  Street." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I'd  care  to  change,"  said 
Carrie,  who  was  already  turning  over  the  three-dollar 
rate  in  her  mind.  She  was  thinking  if  she  had  only 
herself  to  support  this  would  leave  her  seventeen  for 
herself. 

Nothing  came  of  this  until  after  the  Brooklyn  ad- 
venture of  Hurstwood's  and  her  success  with  the  speak- 
ing part.  Then  she  began  to  feel  as  if  she  must  be 
free.  She  thought  of  leaving  Hurstwood  and  thus 
making  him  act  for  himself,  but  he  had  developed  such 


478  SISTER  CARRIE 

peculiar  traits  she  feared  he  might  resist  any  effort  to 
throw  him  off.  He  might  hunt  her  out  at  the  show 
and  hound  her  in  that  way.  She  did  not  wholly  believe 
that  he  would,  but  he  might.  This,  she  knew,  would 
be  an  embarrassing  thing  if  he  made  himself  con- 
spicuous in  any  way.     It  troubled  her  greatly. 

Things  were  precipitated  by  the  offer  of  a  better 
part.  One  of  the  actresses  playing  the  part  of  a  mod- 
est sweetheart  gave  notice  of  leaving  and  Carrie  was 
selected. 

"How  much  are  you  going  to  get?"  asked  Miss 
Osborne,  on  hearing  the  good  news. 

"  I  didn't  ask  him,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  find  out.  Goodness,  you'll  never  get  any- 
thing if  you  don't  ask.  Tell  them  you  must  have  forty 
dollars,  anyhow." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Certainly !  "  exclaimed  Lola.     "  Ask  'em,  anyway." 

Carrie  succumbed  to  this  prompting,  waiting,  how- 
ever, until  the  manager  gave  her  notice  of  what  cloth- 
ing she  must  have  to  fit  the  part. 

"How  much  do  I  get?"  she  inquired. 

"  Thirty-five  dollars,"  he  replied. 

Carrie  was  too  much  astonished  and  delighted  to 
think  of  mentioning  forty.  She  was  nearly  beside  her- 
self, and  almost  hugged  Lola,  who  clung  to  her  at  the 
news. 

"  It  isn't  as  much  as  you  ought  to  get,"  said  the  lat- 
ter, "  especially  when  you've  got  to  buy  clothes." 

Carrie  remembered  this  with  a  start.  Where  to  get 
the  money?  She  had  none  laid  up  for  such  an  emer- 
gency.    Rent  day  was  drawing  near. 

"  I'll  not  do  it,"  she  said,  remembering  her  necessity. 
"  I  don't  use  the  flat.  I'm  not  going  to  give  up  my 
money  this  time.     I'll  move." 


SISTER  CARRIE  479 

Fitting  into  this  came  another  appeal  from  Miss 
Osborne,  more  urgent  than  ever. 

"  Come  live  with  me,  won't  you  ?  "  she  pleaded.  "  We 
can  have  the  loveliest  room.  It  won't  cost  you  hardly 
anything  that  way." 

"  I'd  like  to,"  said  Carrie,  frankly. 

"  Oh,  do,"  said  Lola.  "  We'll  have  such  a  good 
time." 

Carrie  thought  a  while. 

"  I  believe  I  will,"  she  said,  and  then  added :  "  I'll 
have  to  see  first,  though." 

With  the  idea  thus  grounded,  rent  day  approaching, 
and  clothes  calling  for  instant  purchase,  she  soon  found 
excuse  in  Hurstwood's  lassitude.  He  said  less  and 
drooped  more  than  ever. 

As  rent  day  approached,  an  idea  grew  in  him.  It 
was  fostered  by  the  demands  of  creditors  and  the  im- 
possibility of  holding  up  many  more.  Twenty-eight 
dollars  was  too  much  for  rent.  "  It's  hard  on  her,"  he 
thought.     "  We  could  get  a  cheaper  place." 

Stirred  with  this  idea,  he  spoke  at  the  breakfast 
table. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  pay  too  much  rent  here  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Carrie,  not  catching  his  drift. 

"  I  should  think  we  could  get  a  smaller  place,"  he 
suggested.     "  We  don't  need  four  rooms." 

Her  countenance,  had  he  been  scrutinising  her, 
would  have  exhibited  the  disturbance  she  felt  at  this 
evidence  of  his  determination  to  stay  by  her.  He 
saw  nothing  remarkable  in  asking  her  to  come  down 
lower. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  growing  wary. 

"  There  must  be  places  around  here  where  we  could 
get  a  couple  of  rooms,  which  would  do  just  as  well." 


480  SISTER  CARRIE 

Her  heart  revolted.  "  Never !  "  she  thought.  Who 
would  furnish  the  money  to  move?  To  think  of  being 
in  two  rooms  with  him !  She  resolved  to  spend  her 
money  for  clothes  quickly,  before  something  terrible 
happened.  That  very  day  she  did  it.  Having  done  so, 
there  was  but  one  other  thing  to  do. 

"  Lola,"  she  said,  visiting  her  friend,  "  I  think  I'll 
come." 

"  Oh,  jolly  1 "  cried  the  latter. 

"  Can  we  get  it  right  away  ?  "  she  asked,  meaning  the 
room. 

"  Certainly,"  cried  Lola. 

They  went  to  look  at  it.  Carrie  had  saved  ten  dol- 
lars from  her  expenditures — enough  for  this  and  her 
board  beside.  Her  enlarged  salary  would  not  begin 
for  ten  days  yet — would  not  reach  her  for  seventeen. 
She  paid  half  of  the  six  dollars  with  her  friend. 

"  Now,  I've  just  enough  to  get  on  to  the  end  of  the 
week,"  she  confided. 

"  Oh,  I've  got  some,"  said  Lola.  "  I've  got  twenty- 
five  dollars,  if  you  need  it." 

"  No,"  said  Carrie.     "  I  guess  I'll  get  along." 

They  decided  to  move  Friday,  which  was  two  days 
away.  Now  that  the  thing  was  settled,  Carrie's  heart 
misgave  her.  She  felt  very  much  like  a  criminal  in  the 
matter.  Each  day  looking  at  Hurstwood,  she  had  real- 
ised that,  along  with  the  disagreeableness  of  his  atti- 
tude, there  was  something  pathetic. 

She  looked  at  him  the  same  evening  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  go,  and  now  he  seemed  not  so  shiftless 
and  worthless,  but  run  down  and  beaten  upon  by 
chance.  His  eyes  were  not  keen,  his  face  marked,  his 
hands  flabby.  She  thought  his  hair  had  a  touch  of 
grey.  All  unconscious  of  his  doom,  he  rocked  and 
read  his  paper,  while  she  glanced  at  him. 


SISTER  CARRIE  48 1 

Knowing  that  the  end  was  so  near,  she  became  rather 
solicitous. 

"  Will  you  go  over  and  get  some  canned  peaches?  " 
she  asked  Hurstwood,  laying  down  a  two-dollar  bill. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  looking  in  wonder  at  the 
money. 

"  See  if  you  can  get  some  nice  asparagus,"  she  added. 
"  I'll  cook  it  for  dinner." 

Hurstwood  rose  and  took  the  money,  slipping  on  his 
overcoat  and  getting  his  hat.  Carrie  noticed  that  both 
of  these  articles  of  apparel  were  old  and  poor  looking 
in  appearance.  It  was  plain  enough  before,  but  now 
it  came  home  with  peculiar  force.  Perhaps  he  couldn't 
help  it,  after  all.  He  had  done  well  in  Chicago.  She 
remembered  his  fine  appearance  the  days  he  had  met 
her  in  the  park.  Then  he  was  so  sprightly,  so  clean. 
Had  it  been  all  his  fault? 

He  came  back  and  laid  the  change  down  with  the 
food. 

"  You'd  better  keep  it,"  she  observed.  "  We'll  need 
other  things." 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  pride ;  "  you  keep  it." 

"  Oh,  go  on  and  keep  it,"  she  replied,  rather  un- 
nerved.    "  There'll  be  other  things." 

He  wondered  at  this,  not  knowing  the  pathetic  figure 
he  had  become  in  her  eyes.  She  restrained  herself  with 
difficulty  from  showing  a  quaver  in  her  voice. 

To  say  truly,  this  would  have  been  Carrie's  attitude 
in  any  case.  She  had  looked  back  at  times  upon  her 
parting  from  Drouet  and  had  regretted  that  she  had 
served  him  so  badly.  She  hoped  she  would  never  meet 
him  again,  but  she  was  ashamed  of  her  conduct.  Not 
that  she  had  any  choice  in  the  final  separation.  She 
had  gone  willingly  to  seek  him,  with  sympathy  in  her 
heart,  when  Hurstwood  had  reported  him  ill.     There 

31 


482  SISTER  CARRIE 

was  something  cruel,  somewhere,  and  not  being  able 
to  track  it  mentally  to  its  logical  lair,  she  concluded 
with  feeling  that  he  would  never  understand  what 
Hurstwood  had  done  and  would  see  hard-hearted  de- 
cision in  her  deed;  hence  her  shame.  Not  that  she 
cared  for  him.  She  did  not  want  to  make  any  one 
who  had  been  good  to  her  feel  badly. 

She  did  not  realise  what  she  was  doing  by  allowing 
these  feelings  to  possess  her.  Hurstwood,  noticing  the 
kindness,  conceived  better  of  her.  "  Carrie's  good- 
natured,  anyhow,"  he  thought. 

Going  to  Miss  Osborne's  that  afternoon,  she  found 
that  little  lady  packing  and  singing. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  over  with  me  to-day  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  said  Carrie.  "  I'll  be  there  Friday. 
Would  you  mind  lending  me  the  twenty-five  dollars  you 
spoke  of  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Lola,  going  for  her  purse. 

"  I  want  to  get  some  other  things,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  answered  the  little  girl,  good- 
naturedly,  glad  to  be  of  service. 

It  had  been  days  since  Hurstwood  had  done  more 
than  go  to  the  grocery  or  to  the  news-stand.  Now  the 
weariness  of  indoors  was  upon  him — had  been  for  two 
days — but  chill,  grey  weather  had  held  him  back.  Fri- 
day broke  fair  and  warm.  It  was  one  of  those  lovely 
harbingers  of  spring,  given  as  a  sign  in  dreary  winter 
that  earth  is  not  forsaken  of  warmth  and  beauty.  The 
blue  heaven,  holding  its  one  golden  orb,  poured  down 
a  crystal  wash  of  warm  light.  It  was  plain,  from  the 
voice  of  the  sparrows,  that  all  was  halcyon  outside. 
Carrie  raised  the  front  windows,  and  felt  the  south 
wind  blowing. 

"  It's  lovely  out  to-day,"  she  remarked. 


SISTER  CARRIE  483 

"  Is  it?  "  said  Hurstwood. 

After  breakfast,  he  immediately  got  his  other  clothes. 

"  Will  you  be  back  for  lunch  ?  "  asked  Carrie,  ner- 
vously. 

"  No,"  he  said. 

He  went  out  into  the  streets  and  tramped  north, 
along  Seventh  Avenue,  idly  fixing  upon  the  Harlem 
River  as  an  objective  point.  He  had  seen  some  ships 
up  there,  the  time  he  had  called  upon  the  brewers.  He 
wondered  how  the  territory  thereabouts  was  growing. 

Passing  Fifty-ninth  Street,  he  took  the  west  side  of 
Central  Park,  which  he  followed  to  Seventy-eighth 
Street.  Then  he  remembered  the  neighbourhood  and 
turned  over  to  look  at  the  mass  of  buildings  erected. 
It  was  very  much  improved.  The  great  open  spaces 
were  filling  up.  Coming  back,  he  kept  to  the  Park 
until  110th  Street,  and  then  turned  into  Seventh  Ave- 
nue again,  reaching  the  pretty  river  by  one  o'clock. 

There  it  ran  winding  before  his  gaze,  shining 
brightly  in  the  clear  light,  between  the  undulating 
banks  on  the  right  and  the  tall,  tree-covered  heights  on 
the  left.  The  spring-like  atmosphere  woke  him  to  a 
sense  of  its  loveliness,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  stood 
looking  at  it,  folding  his  hands  behind  his  back.  Then 
he  turned  and  followed  it  toward  the  east  side,  idly 
seeking  the  ships  he  had  seen.  It  was  four  o'clock  be- 
fore the  waning  day,  with  its  suggestion  of  a  cooler 
evening,  caused  him  to  return.  He  was  hungry  and 
would  enjoy  eating  in  the  warm  room. 

When  he  reached  the  flat  by  half-past  five,  it  was 
still  dark.  He  knew  that  Carrie  was  not  there,  not 
only  because  there  was  no  light  showing  through  the 
transom,  but  because  the  evening  papers  were  stuck  be- 
tween the  outside  knob  and  the  door.  He  opened  with 
his  key  and  went  in.  Everything  was  still  dark.  Light- 


484  SISTER  CARRIE 

ing  the  gas,  he  sat  down,  preparing  to  wait  a  little 
while.  Even  if  Carrie  did  come  now,  dinner  would  be 
late.  He  read  until  six,  then  got  up  to  fix  something 
for  himself. 

As  he  did  so,  he  noticed  that  the  room  seemed  a  little 
queer.  What  was  it?  He  looked  around,  as  if  he 
missed  something,  and  then  saw  an  envelope  near 
where  he  had  been  sitting.  It  spoke  for  itself,  almost 
without  further  action  on  his  part. 

Reaching  over,  he  took  it,  a  sort  of  chill  settling  upon 
him  even  while  he  reached.  The  crackle  of  the  en- 
velope in  his  hands  was  loud.  Green  paper  money  lay 
soft  within  the  note. 

"Dear  George,"  he  read,  crunching  the  money  in  one  hand. 
"  I'm  going  away.  I'm  not  coming  back  any  more.  It's  no  use 
trying  to  keep  up  the  flat ;  I  can't  do  it.  I  wouldn't  mind  helping 
you,  if  I  could,  but  I  can't  support  us  both,  and  pay  the  rent.  I 
need  what  little  I  make  to  pay  for  my  clothes.  I'm  leaving 
twenty  dollars.  It's  all  I  have  just  now.  You  can  do  whatever 
you  like  with  the  furniture.     I  won't  want  it. — CARRIE." 

He  dropped  the  note  and  looked  quietly  round.  Now 
he  knew  what  he  missed.  It  was  the  little  ornamental 
clock,  which  was  hers.  It  had  gone  from  the  mantel- 
piece. He  went  into  the  front  room,  his  bedroom,  the 
parlour,  lighting  the  gas  as  he  went.  From  the  chif- 
fonier had  gone  the  knick-knacks  of  silver  and  plate. 
From  the  table-top,  the  lace  coverings.  He  opened 
the  "wardrobe — no  clothes  of  hers.  He  opened  the 
drawers — nothing  of  hers.  Her  trunk  was  gone  from 
its  accustomed  place.  Back  in  his  own  room  hung  his 
old  clothes,  just  as  he  had  left  them.  Nothing  else  was 
gone. 

He  stepped  into  the  parlour  and  stood  for  a  few  mo- 
ments looking  vacantly  at  the  floor.     The  silence  grew 


SISTER  CARRIE  485 

oppressive.  The  little  flat  seemed  wonderfully  de- 
serted. He  wholly  forgot  that  he  was  hungry,  that  it 
was  only  dinner-time.     It  seemed  later  in  the  night. 

Suddenly,  he  found  that  the  money  was  still  in  his 
hands.  There  were  twenty  dollars  in  all,  as  she  had 
said.  Now  he  walked  back,  leaving  the  lights  ablaze, 
and  feeling  as  if  the  flat  were  empty. 

"  I'll  get  out  of  this,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Then  the  sheer  loneliness  of  his  situation  rushed 
upon  him  in  full. 

"  Left  me !  "  he  muttered,  and  repeated,  "  left  me !  " 

The  place  that  had  been  so  comfortable,  where  he 
had  spent  so  many  days  of  warmth,  was  now  a  memory. 
Something  colder  and  chillier  confronted  him.  He 
sank  down  in  his  chair,  resting  his  chin  in  his  hand — 
mere  sensation,  without  thought,  holding  him. 

Then  something  like  a  bereaved  affection  and  self- 
pity  swept  over  him. 

"  She  needn't  have  gone  away,"  he  said.  "  I'd  have 
got  something." 

He  sat  a  long  while  without  rocking,  and  added  quite 
clearly,  out  loud : 

"I  tried,  didn't  I?" 

At  midnight  he  was  still  rocking,  staring  at  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

THE   WORLD    TURNS    FLATTERER:   AN    EYE   IN   THE   DARK 

Installed  in  her  comfortable  room,  Carrie  wondered 
how  Hurstwood  had  taken  her  departure.  She  ar- 
ranged a  few  things  hastily  and  then  left  for  the 
theatre,  half  expecting  to  encounter  him  at  the  door. 
Not  finding  him,  her  dread  lifted,  and  she  felt  more 
kindly  toward  him.  She  quite  forgot  him  until  about 
to  come  out,  after  the  show,  when  the  chance  of  his 
being  there  frightened  her.  As  day  after  day  passed 
and  she  heard  nothing  at  all,  the  thought  of  being  both- 
ered by  him  passed.  In  a  little  while  she  was,  except 
for  occasional  thoughts,  wholly  free  of  the  gloom  with 
which  her  life  had  been  weighed  in  the  flat. 

It  is  curious  to  note  how  quickly  a  profession  absorbs 
one.  Carrie  became  wise  in  theatrical  lore,  hearing 
the  gossip  of  little  Lola.  She  learned  what  the  theatri- 
cal papers  were,  which  ones  published  items  about 
actresses  and  the  like.  She  began  to  read  the  news- 
paper notices,  not  only  of  the  opera  in  which  she  had 
so  small  a  part,  but  of  others.  Gradually  the  desire 
for  notice  took  hold  of  her.  She  longed  to  be  renowned 
like  others,  and  read  with  avidity  all  the  complimentary 
or  critical  comments  made  concerning  others  high  in 
her  profession.  The  showy  world  in  which  her  in- 
terest lay  completely  absorbed  her. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  newspapers  and 
magazines  were  beginning  to  pay  that  illustrative  at- 


SISTER  CARRIE  487 

tention  to  the  beauties  of  the  stage  which  has  since  be- 
come fervid.  The  newspapers,  and  particularly  the 
Sunday  newspapers,  indulged  in  large  decorative  theat- 
rical pages,  in  which  the  faces  and  forms  of  well-known 
theatrical  celebrities  appeared,  enclosed  with  artistic 
scrolls.  The  magazines  also — or  at  least  one  or  two 
of  the  newer  ones — published  occasional  portraits  of 
pretty  stars,  and  now  and  again  photos  of.  scenes 
from  various  plays.  Carrie  watched  these  with  grow- 
ing interest.  When  would  a  scene  from  her  opera 
appear?  When  would  some  paper  think  her  photo 
worth  while? 

The  Sunday  before  taking  her  new  part  she  scanned 
the  theatrical  pages  for  some  little  notice.  It  would 
have  accorded  with  her  expectations  if  nothing  had 
been  said,  but  there  in  the  squibs,  tailing  off  several 
more  substantial  items,  was  a  wee  notice.  Carrie  read 
it  with  a  tingling  body : 

"  The  part  of  Katisha,  the  country  maid,  in  '  The  Wives  of 
Abdul '  at  the  Broadway,  heretofore  played  by  Inez  Carew,  will 
be  hereafter  filled  by  Carrie  Madenda,  one  of  the  cleverest  mem- 
bers of  the  chorus." 

Carrie  hugged  herself  with  delight.  Oh,  wasn't  it 
just  fine!  At  last!  The  first,  the  long-hoped  for,  the 
delightful  notice !  And  they  called  her  clever.  She 
could  hardly  restrain  herself  from  laughing  loudly. 
Had  Lola  seen  it? 

"  They've  got  a  notice  here  of  the  part  I'm  going  to 
play  to-morrow  night,"  said  Carrie  to  her  friend. 

"Oh,  jolly!  Have  they?"  cried  Lola,  running  to 
her.  "That's  all  right,"  she  said,  looking.  "You'll 
get  more  now,  if  you  do  well.  I  had  my  picture  in  the 
'  World  '  once." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  asked  Carrie. 


488  SISTER   CARRIE 

"Did  I?  Well,  I  should  say,"  returned  the  little 
girl.     "  They  had  a  frame  around  it." 

Carrie  laughed. 

"  They've  never  published  my  picture." 

"  But  they  will,"  said  Lola.  "  You'll  see.  You  do 
better  than  most  that  get  theirs  in  now." 

Carrie  felt  deeply  grateful  for  this.  She  almost  loved 
Lola  for  the  sympathy  and  praise  she  extended.  It 
was  so  helpful  to  her — so  almost  necessary. 

Fulfilling  her  part  capably  brought  another  notice 
in  the  papers  that  she  was  doing  her  work  acceptably. 
This  pleased  her  immensely.  She  began  to  think  the 
world  was  taking  note  of  her. 

The  first  week  she  got  her  thirty-five  dollars,  it 
seemed  an  enormous  sum.  Paying  only  three  dollars 
for  room  rent  seemed  ridiculous.  After  giving  Lola 
her  twenty-five,  she  still  had  seven  dollars  left.  With 
four  left  over  from  previous  earnings,  she  had  eleven. 
Five  of  this  went  to  pay  the  regular  installment  on  the 
clothes  she  had  to  buy.  The  next  week  she  was  even 
in  greater  feather.  Now,  only  three  dollars  need  be 
paid  for  room  rent  and  five  on  her  clothes.  The  rest 
she  had  for  food  and  her  own  whims. 

"  You'd  better  save  a  little  for  summer,"  cautioned 
Lola.     "We'll  probably  close  in  May." 

"  I  intend  to,"  said  Carrie. 

The  regular  entrance  of  thirty-five  dollars  a  week  to 
one  who  has  endured  scant  allowances  for  several  years 
is  a  demoralising  thing.  Carrie  found  her  purse  burst- 
ing with  good  green  bills  of  comfortable  denomina- 
tions. Having  no  one  dependent  upon  her,  she  began 
to  buy  pretty  clothes  and  pleasing  trinkets,  to  eat  well, 
and  to  ornament  her  room.  Friends  were  not  long  in 
gathering  about.  She  met  a  few  young  men  who  be- 
longed to  Lola's  staff.     The  members  of  the  opera 


SISTER   CARRIE  489 

company  made  her  acquaintance  without  the  formality 
of  introduction.  One  of  these  discovered  a  fancy  for 
her.     On  several  occasions  he  strolled  home  with  her. 

"  Let's  stop  in  and  have  a  rarebit,"  he  suggested  one 
midnight. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Carrie. 

In  the  rosy  restaurant,  filled  with  the  merry  lovers 
of  late  hours,  she  found  herself  criticising  this  man. 
He  was  too  stilted,  too  self-opinionated.  He  did  not 
talk  of  anything  that  lifted  her  above  the  common  run 
of  clothes  and  material  success.  When  it  was  all  over, 
he  smiled  most  graciously. 

"  Got  to  go  straight  home,  have  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes/''  she  answered,  with  an  air  of  quiet  under- 
standing. 

"  She's  not  so  inexperienced  as  she  looks,"  he 
thought,  and  thereafter  his  respect  and  ardour  were 
increased. 

She  could  not  help  sharing  in  Lola's  love  for  a  good 
time.  There  were  days  when  they  went  carriage  rid- 
ing, nights  when  after  the  show  they  dined,  afternoons 
when  they  strolled  along  Broadway,  tastefully  dressed. 
She  was  getting  in  the  meropolitan  whirl  of  pleasure. 

At  last  her  picture  appeared  in  one  of  the  weeklies. 
She  had  not  known  of  it,  and  it  took  her  breath.  "  Miss 
Carrie  Madenda,"  it  was  labelled.  "  One  of  the  favour- 
ites of  '  The  Wives  of  Abdul '  company."  At  Lola's 
advice  she  had  had  some  pictures  taken  by  Sarony. 
They  had  got  one  there.  She  thought  of  going  down 
and  buying  a  few  copies  of  the  paper,  but  remembered 
that  there  was  no  one  she  knew  well  enough  to  send 
them  to.  Only  Lola,  apparently,  in  all  the  world  was 
interested. 

The  metropolis  is  a  cold  place  socially,  and  Carrie 
soon  found  that  a  little  money  brought  her  nothing. 


490  SISTER  CARRIE 

The  world  of  wealth  and  distinction  was  quite  as  far 
away  as  ever.  She  could  feel  that  there  was  no  warm, 
sympathetic  friendship  back  of  the  easy  merriment 
with  which  many  approached  her.  All  seemed  to  be 
seeking  their  own  amusement,  regardless  of  the  pos- 
sible sad  consequence  to  others.  So  much  for  the  les- 
sons of  Hurstwood  and  Drouet. 

In  April  she  learned  that  the  opera  would  probably 
last  until  the  middle  or  the  end  of  May,  according  to 
the  size  of  the  audiences.  Next  season  it  would  go  on 
the  road.  She  wondered  if  she  would  be  with  it.  As 
usual,  Miss  Osborne,  owing  to  her  moderate  salary, 
was  for  securing  a  home  engagement. 

"  They're  putting  on  a  summer  play  at  the  Casino," 
she  announced,  after  figuratively  putting  her  ear  to  the 
ground.     "  Let's  try  and  get  in  that." 

"  I'm  willing,"  said  Carrie. 

They  tried  in  time  and  were  apprised  of  the  proper 
date  to  apply  again.  That  was  May  16th.  Meanwhile 
their  own  show  closed  May  5th. 

"  Those  that  want  to  go  with  the  show  next  season," 
said  the  manager,  "  will  have  to  sign  this  week." 

"  Don't    you    sign,"    advised    Lola.      "  I    wouldn't 

go." 

"  I  know,"  said  Carrie,  "  but  maybe  I  can't  get  any- 
thing else." 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  said  the  little  girl,  who  had  a  re- 
source in  her  admirers.  "  I  went  once  and  I  didn't 
have  anything  at  the  end  of  the  season." 

Carrie  thought  this  over.  She  had  never  been  on 
the  road. 

"  We  can  get  along,"  added  Lola.     "  I  always  have." 

Carrie  did  not  sign. 

The  manager  who  was  putting  on  the  summer  skit 

at  the  Casino  had  never  heard  of  Carrie,  but  the  several 


SISTER   CARRIE  49 1 

notices  she  had  received,  her  published  picture,  and 
the  programme  bearing  her  name  had  some  little 
weight  with  him.  He  gave  her  a  silent  part  at  thirty 
dollars  a  week. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  Lola.  "  It  doesn't  do  you 
any  good  to  go  away  from  New  York.  They  forget  all 
about  you  if  you  do." 

Now,  because  Carrie  was  pretty,  the  gentlemen  who 
made  up  the  advance  illustrations  of  shows  about  to 
appear  for  the  Sunday  papers  selected  Carrie's  photo 
along  with  others  to  illustrate  the  announcement.  Be- 
cause she  was  very  pretty,  they  gave  it  excellent  space 
and  drew  scrolls  about  it,  Carrie  was  delighted.  Still, 
the  management  did  not  seem  to  have  seen  anything  of 
it.  At  least,  no  more  attention  was  paid  to  her  than 
before.  At  the  same  time  there  seemed  very  little  in 
her  part.  It  consisted  of  standing  around  in  all  sorts 
of  scenes,  a  silent  little  Quakeress.  The  author  of  the 
skit  had  fancied  that  a  great  deal  could  be  made  of 
such  a  part,  given  to  the  right  actress,  but  now,  since  it 
had  been  doled  out  to  Carrie,  he  would  as  leave  have 
had  it  cut  out. 

"  Don't  kick,  old  man,"  remarked  the  manager.  "  If 
it  don't  go  the  first  week  we  will  cut  it  out." 

Carrie  had  no  warning  of  this  halcyon  intention. 
She  practised  her  part  ruefully,  feeling  that  she  was 
effectually  shelved.  At  the  dress  rehearsal  she  was 
disconsolate. 

"  That  isn't  so  bad,"  said  the  author,  the  manager 
noting  the  curious  effect  which  Carrie's  blues  had  upon 
the  part.  "  Tell  her  to  frown  a  little  more  when  Sparks 
dances." 

Carrie  did  not  know  it,  but  there  was  the  least  show 
of  wrinkles  between  her  eyes  and  her  mouth  was  puck- 
ered quaintly. 


492  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Frown  a  little  more,  Miss  Madenda,"  said  the  stage 
manager. 

Carrie  instantly  brightened  up,  thinking  he  had 
meant  it  as  a  rebuke. 

"  No ;  frown,"  he  said.     "  Frown  as  you  did  before." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  I  mean  it,"  he  said.  "  Frown  hard  when  Mr.  Sparks 
dances.     I  want  to  see  how  it  looks." 

It  was  easy  enough  to  do.  Carrie  scowled.  The 
effect  was  something  so  quaint  and  droll  it  caught  even 
the  manager. 

"That  is  good,"  he  said.  "If  she'll  do  that  all 
through,  I  think  it  will  take." 

Going  over  to  Carrie,  he  said : 

"  Suppose  you  try  frowning  all  through.  Do  it 
hard.     Look  mad.     It'll  make  the  part  really  funny." 

On  the  opening  night  it  looked  to  Carrie  as  if  there 
were  nothing  to  her  part,  after  all.  The  happy,  swel- 
tering audience  did  not  seem  to  see  her  in  the  first  act. 
She  frowned  and  frowned,  but  to  no  effect.  Eyes  were 
riveted  upon  the  more  elaborate  efforts  of  the  stars. 

In  the  second  act,  the  crowd,  wearied  by  a  dull  con- 
versation, roved  with  its  eyes  about  the  stage  and 
sighted  her.  There  she  was,  grey-suited,  sweet-faced, 
demure,  but  scowling.  At  first  the  general  idea  was 
that  she  was  temporarily  irritated,  that  the  look  was 
genuine  and  not  fun  at  all.  As  she  went  on  frowning, 
looking  now  at  one  principal  and  now  at  the  other,  the 
audience  began  to  smile.  The  portly  gentlemen  in  the 
front  rows  began  to  feel  that  she  was  a  delicious  little 
morsel.  It  was 'the  kind  of  frown  they  would  have 
loved  to  force  away  with  kisses.  All  the  gentlemen 
yearned  toward  her.     She  was  capital. 

At  last,  the  chief  comedian,  singing  in  the  centre  of 
the  stage,  noticed  a  giggle  where  it  was  not  expected. 


SISTER  CARRIE 


493 


Then  another  and  another.  When  the  place  came  for 
loud  applause  it  was  only  moderate.  What  could  be 
the  trouble?     He  realised  that  something  was  up. 

All  at  once,  after  an  exit,  he  caught  sight  of  Carrie. 
She  was  frowning  alone  on  the  stage  and  the  audience 
was  giggling  and  laughing. 

"  By  George,  I  won't  stand  that !  "  thought  the  thes- 
pian.  "■  I'm  not  going  to  have  my  work  cut  up  by  some 
one  else.  Either  she  quits  that  when  I  do  my  turn 
or  I  quit." 

"  Why,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  manager,  when  the 
kick  came.  "  That's  what  she's  supposed  to  do.  You 
needn't  pay  any  attention  to  that." 

"  But  she  ruins  my  work." 

"  No,  she  don't,"  returned  the  former,  soothingly. 
"  It's  only  a  little  fun  on  the  side." 

"  It  is,  eh  ?  "  exclaimed  the  big  comedian.  "  She 
killed  my  hand  all  right.     I'm  not  going  to  stand  that." 

"  Well,  wait  until  after  the  show.  Wait  until  to- 
morrow.    We'll  see  what  we  can  do." 

The  next  act,  however,  settled  what  was  to  be  done. 
Carrie  was  the  chief  feature  of  the  play.  The  audi- 
ence, the  more  it  studied  her,  the  more  it  indicated  its 
delight.  Every  other  feature  paled  beside  the  quaint, 
teasing,  delightful  atmosphere  which  Carrie  contrib- 
uted while  on  the  stage.  Manager  and  company  real- 
ised she  had  made  a  hit. 

The  critics  of  the  daily  papers  completed  her  tri- 
umph. There  were  long  notices  in  praise  of  the  qual- 
ity of  the  burlesque,  touched  with  recurrent  references 
to  Carrie.  The  contagious  mirth  of  the  thing  was 
repeatedly  emphasised. 

"Miss  Madenda  presents  one  of  the  most  delightful  bits  of 
character  work  ever  seen  on  the  Casino  stage,"  observed  the 
sage  critic  of  the  "  Sun."    "  It  is  a  bit  of  quiet,  unassuming  droll- 


494  SISTER  CARRIE 

ery  which  warms  like  good  wine.  Evidently  the  part  was  not  in- 
tended to  take  precedence,  as  Miss  Madenda  is  not  often  on  the 
stage,  but  the  audience,  with  the  characteristic  perversity  of  such 
bodies,  selected  for  itself.  The  little  Quakeress  was  marked  for  a 
favourite  the  momentshe  appeared, and  thereafter  easily  held  atten- 
tion and  applause.     The  vagaries  of  fortune  are  indeed  curious." 

The  critic  of  the  "  Evening  World,"  seeking  as  usual 
to  establish  a  catch  phrase  which  should  "  go  "  with 
the  town,  wound  up  by  advising :  "  If  you  wish  to  be 
merry,  see  Carrie  frown." 

The  result  was  miraculous  so  far  as  Carrie's  fortune 
was  concerned.  Even  during  the  morning  she  received 
a  congratulatory  message  from  the  manager. 

"  You  seem  to  have  taken  the  town  by  storm,"  he 
wrote.  "This  is  delightful.  I  am  as  glad  for  your 
sake  as  for  my  own." 

The  author  also  sent  word. 

That  evening  when  she  entered  the  theatre  the  man- 
ager had  a  most  pleasant  greeting  for  her. 

"  Mr.  Stevens,"  he  said,  referring  to  the  author,  "  is 
preparing  a  little  song,  which  he  would  like  you  to 
sing  next  week." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  sing,"  returned  Carrie. 

"  It  isn't  anything  difficult.  '  It's  something  that  is 
very  simple/  he  says,  '  and  would  suit  you  exactly.' " 

"  Of  course,  I  wouldn't  mind  trying,"  said  Carrie, 
archly. 

,  "  Would  you  mind  coming  to  the  box-office  a  few 
moments  before  you  dress?  "  observed  the  manager,  in 
addition.  "  There's  a  little  matter  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  about." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Carrie. 

In  that  latter  place  the  manager  produced  a  paper. 

"  Now,  of  course,"  he  said,  "  we  want  to  be  fair  with 
you  in  the  matter  of  salary.    Your  contract  here  only 


SISTER   CARRIE  495 

calls  for  thirty  dollars  a  week  for  the  next  three  months. 
How  would  it  do  to  make  it,  say,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
a  week  and  extend  it  for  twelve  months  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Carrie,  scarcely  believing  her 
ears. 

"  Supposing,  then,  you  just  sign  this." 

Carrie  looked  and  beheld  a  new  contract  made  out 
like  the  other  one,  with  the  exception  of  the  new  figures 
of  salary  and  time.  With  a  hand  trembling  from  ex- 
citement she  affixed  her  name. 

"  One  hundred  and  fifty  a  week !  "  she  murmured, 
when  she  was  again  alone.  She  found,  after  all — as 
what  millionaire  has  not  ? — that  there  was  no  realising, 
in  consciousness,  the  meaning  of  large  sums.  It  was 
only  a  shimmering,  glittering  phrase  in  which  lay  a 
world  of  possibilities. 

Down  in  a  third-rate  Bleecker  Street  hotel,  the 
brooding  Hurstwood  read  the  dramatic  item  covering 
Carrie's  success,  without  at  first  realising  who  was 
meant.  Then  suddenly  it  came  to  him  and  he  read  the 
whole  thing  over  again. 

"  That's  her,  all  right,  I  guess,"  he  said. 

Then  he  looked  about  upon  a  dingy,  moth-eaten  hotel 
lobby. 

"  I  guess  she's  struck  it,"  he  thought,  a  picture  of 
the  old  shiny,  plush-covered  world  coming  back,  with 
its  lights,  its  ornaments,  its  carriages,  and  flowers. 
Ah,  she  was  in  the  walled  city  now !  Its  splendid  gates 
had  opened,  admitting  her  from  a  cold,  dreary  outside. 
She  seemed  a  creature  afar  off — like  every  other  celeb- 
rity he  had  known. 

"  Well,  let  her  have  it,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  bother 
her." 

It  was  the  grim  resolution  of  a  bent,  bedraggled,  but 
unbroken  pride. 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

AND  THIS  IS  NOT  ELF  LAND  :  WHAT  GOLD  WILL  NOT  BUY 

When  Carrie  got  back  on  the  stage,  she  found  that 
over  night  her  dressing-room  had  been  changed. 

"  You  are  to  use  this  room,  Miss  Madenda,"  said  one 
of  the  stage  lackeys. 

No  longer  any  need  of  climbing  several  flights  of 
steps  to  a  small  coop  shared  with  another.  Instead, 
a  comparatively  large  and  commodious  chamber  with 
conveniences  not  enjoyed  by  the  small  fry  overhead. 
She  breathed  deeply  and  with  delight.  Her  sensa- 
tions were  more  physical  than  mental.  In  fact,  she 
Was  scarcely  thinking  at  all.  Heart  and  body  were 
having  their  say. 

Gradually  the  deference  and  congratulation  gave  her 
a  mental  appreciation  of  her  state.  She  was  no  longer 
ordered,  but  requested,  and  that  politely.  The  other 
members  of  the  cast  looked  at  her  enviously  as  she 
came  out  arrayed  in  her  simple  habit,  which  she  wore 
all  through  the  play.  All  those  who  had  supposedly 
been  her  equals  and  superiors  now  smiled  the  smile  of 
sociability,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  How  friendly  we  have 
always  been."  Only  the  star  comedian  whose  part 
had  been  so  deeply  injured  stalked  by  himself.  Figu- 
ratively, he  could  not  kiss  the  hand  that  smote  him. 

Doing  her  simple  part,  Carrie  gradually  realised  the 
meaning  of  the  applause  which  was  for  her,  and  it  was 
sweet.     She  felt  mildly  guilty  of  something — perhaps 


SISTER   CARRIE  497 

unworthiness.  When  her  associates  addressed  her  in 
the  wings  she  only  smiled  weakly.  The  pride  and 
daring  of  place  were  not  for  her.  It  never  once  crossed 
her  mind  to  be  reserved  or  haughty — to  be  other  than 
she  had  been.  After  the  performances  she  rode  to  her 
room  with  Lola,  in  a  carriage  provided. 

Then  came  a  week  in  which  the  first  fruits  of  success 
were  offered  to  her  lips — bowl  after  bowl.  It  did  not 
matter  that  her  splendid  salary  had  not  begun.  The 
world  seemed  satisfied  with  the  promise.  She  began 
to  get  letters  and  cards.  A  Mr.  Withers — whom  she 
did  not  know  from  Adam — having  learned  by  some 
hook  or  crook  where  she  resided,  bowed  himself  po- 
litely in. 

"  You  will  excuse  me  for  intruding,"  he  said ;  "  but 
have  you  been  thinking  of  changing  your  apartments?" 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  returned  Carrie. 

"  Well,  I  am  connected  with  the  Wellington — the 
new  hotel  on  Broadway.  You  have  probably  seen  no- 
tices of  it  in  the  papers." 

Carrie  recognised  the  name  as  standing  for  one  of 
the  newest  and  most  imposing  hostelries.  She  had 
heard  it  spoken  of  as  having  a  splendid  restaurant. 

"  Just  so,"  went  on  Mr.  Withers,  accepting  her  ac- 
knowledgment of  familiarity.  "  We  have  some  very- 
elegant  rooms  at  present  which  we  would  like  to  have 
you  look  at,  if  you  have  not  made  up  your  mind  where 
you  intend  to  reside  for  the  summer.  Our  apartments 
are  perfect  in  every  detail — hot  and  cold  water,  private 
baths,  special  hall  service  for  every  floor,  elevators,  and 
all  that.     You  know  what  our  restaurant  is." 

Carrie  looked  at  him  quietly.  She  was  wondering 
whether  he  took  her  to  be  a  millionaire. 

"  What  are  your  rates  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Well,  now,  that  is  what  I  came  to  talk  with  you 
32 


498  SISTER   CARRIE 

privately  about.  Our  regular  rates  are  anywhere  from 
three  to  fifty  dollars  a  day." 

"  Mercy !  "  interrupted  Carrie.  "  I  couldn't  pay  any 
such  rate  as  that." 

"  I  know  how  you  feel  about  it,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Withers,  halting.  "  But  just  let  me  explain.  I  said 
those  are  our  regular  rates.  Like  every  other  hotel  we 
make  special  ones,  however.  Possibly  you  have  not 
thought  about  it,  but  your  name  is  worth  something 
to  us." 

"  Oh !  "  ejaculated  Carrie,  seeing  at  a  glance. 

"  Of  course.  Every  hotel  depends  upon  the  repute 
of  its  patrons.  A  well-known  actress  like  yourself," 
and  he  bowed  politely,  while  Carrie  flushed,  "  draws 
attention  to  the  hotel,  and — although  you  may  not  be- 
lieve it — patrons." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Carrie,  vacantly,  trying  to  ar- 
range this  curious  proposition  in  her  mind. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mr.  Withers,  swaying  his  derby 
hat  softly  and  beating  one  of  his  polished  shoes  upon 
the  floor,  "  I  want  to  arrange,  if  possible,  to  have  you 
come  and  stop  at  the  Wellington.  You  need  not 
trouble  about  terms.  In  fact,  we  need  hardly  discuss 
them.  Anything  will  do  for  the  summer — a  mere 
figure — anything  that  you  think  you  could  afford  to 
pay." 

Carrie  was  about  to  interrupt,  but  he  gave  her  no 
chance. 

"  You  can  come  to-day  or  to-morrow — the  earlier  the 
better — and  we  will  give  you  your  choice  of  nice,  light, 
outside  rooms — the  very  best  we  have." 

"  You're  very  kind,"  said  Carrie,  touched  by  the 
agent's  extreme  affability.  "  I  should  like  to  come 
very  much.  I  would  want  to  pay  what  is  right,  how- 
ever.    I  shouldn't  want  to——" 


SISTER   CARRIE  499 

"  You  need  not  trouble  about  that  at  all,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Withers.  "  We  can  arrange  that  to  your  entire 
satisfaction  at  any  time.  If  three  dollars  a  day  is  satis- 
factory to  you,  it  will  be  so  to  us.  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  pay  that  sum  to  the  clerk  at  the  end  of  the  week  or 
month,  just  as  you  wish,  and  he  will  give  you  a  receipt 
for  what  the  rooms  would  cost  if  charged  for  at  our 
regular  rates." 

The  speaker  paused. 

"  Suppose  you  come  and  look  at  the  rooms,"  he 
added. 

"  I'd  be  glad  to,"  said  Carrie,  "  but  I  have  a  rehearsal 
this  morning." 

"  I  did  not  mean  at  once,"  he  returned.  "  Any  time 
will  do.     Would  this  afternoon  be  inconvenient?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Carrie. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  Lola,  who  was  out  at  the 
time. 

"  I  have  a  room-mate,"  she  added,  "  who  will  have 
to  go  wherever  I  do.     I  forgot  about  that." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Withers,  blandly.  "  It  is 
for  you  to  say  whom  you  want  with  you.  As  I  say, 
all  that  can  be  arranged  to  suit  yourself." 

He  bowed  and  backed  toward  the  door. 

"  At  four,  then,  we  may  expect  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrie. 

"  I  will  be  there  to  show  you,"  and  so  Mr.  Withers 
withdrew. 

After  rehearsal  Carrie  informed  Lola. 

"  Did  they  really?  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  thinking  of 
the  Wellington  as  a  group  of  managers.  "  Isn't  that 
fine?  Oh,  jolly!  It's  so  swell.  That's  where  we 
dined  that  night  we  went  with  those  two  Cushing  boys. 
Don't  you  know?  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  Carrie. 


5oo 


SISTER   CARRIE 


"  Oh,  it's  as  fine  as  it  can  be." 

"  We'd  better  be  going  up  there,"  observed  Carrie, 
later  in  the  afternoon. 

The  rooms  which  Mr.  Withers  displayed  to  Carrie 
and  Lola  were  three  and  bath — a  suite  on  the  parlour 
floor.  They  were  done  in  chocolate  and  dark  red,  with 
rugs  and  hangings  to  match.  Three  windows  looked 
down  into  busy  Broadway  on  the  east,  three  into  a  side 
street  which  crossed  there.  There  were  two  lovely 
bedrooms,  set  with  brass  and  white  enamel  beds,  white, 
ribbon-trimmed  chairs  and  chiffoniers  to  match.  In 
the  third  room,  or  parlour,  was  a  piano,  a  heavy  piano 
lamp,  with  a  shade  of  gorgeous  pattern,  a  library  table, 
several  huge  easy  rockers,  some  dado  book  shelves, 
and  a  gilt  curio  case,  filled  with  oddities.  Pictures 
were  upon  the  walls,  soft  Turkish  pillows  upon  the 
divan,  footstools  of  brown  plush  upon  the  floor.  Such 
accommodations  would  ordinarily  cost  a  hundred  dol- 
lars a  week. 

"  Oh,  lovely !  "  exclaimed  Lola,  walking  about. 

"  It  is  comfortable,"  said  Carrie,  who  was  lifting  a 
lace  curtain  and  looking  down  into  crowded  Broadway. 

The  bath  was  a  handsome  affair,  done  in  white 
enamel,  with  a  large,  blue-bordered  stone  tub  and 
nickel  trimmings.  It  was  bright  and  commodious, 
with  a  bevelled  mirror  set  in  the  wall  at  one  end  and 
incandescent  lights  arranged  in  three  places. 

"Do  you  find  these  satisfactory?"  observed  Mr. 
Withers. 

"  Oh,  very,"  answered  Carrie. 

"  Well,  then,  any  time  you  find  it  convenient  to  move 
in,  they  are  ready.  The  boy  will  bring  you  the  keys 
at  the  door." 

Carrie  noted  the  elegantly  carpeted  and  decorated 
hall,  the  marbelled  lobby,  and  showy  waiting-room. 


SISTER  CARRIE  50 1 

It  was  such  a  place  as  she  had  often  dreamed  of 
occupying. 

"  I  guess  we'd  better  move  right  away,  don't  you 
think  so  ?  "  she  observed  to  Lola,  thinking  of  the  com- 
monplace chamber  in  Seventeenth  Street. 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,"  said  the  latter. 

The  next  day  her  trunks  left  for  the  new  abode. 

Dressing,  after  the  matinee  on  Wednesday,  a  knock 
came  at  her  dressing-room  door. 

Carrie  looked  at  the  card  handed  by  the  boy  and  suf- 
fered a  shock  of  surprise. 

"Tell  her  I'll  be  right  out,"  she  said  softly.  Then, 
looking  at  the  card,  added :  "  Mrs.  Vance." 

"  Why,  you  little  sinner,"  the  latter  exclaimed,  as  she 
saw  Carrie  coming  toward  her  across  the  now  vacant 
stage.     "  How  in  the  world  did  this  happen  ?  " 

Carrie  laughed  merrily.  There  was  no  trace  of  em- 
barrassment in  her  friend's  manner.  You  would  have 
thought  that  the  long  separation  had  come  about  acci- 
dentally. 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  Carrie,  warming,  in  spite 
of  her  first  troubled  feelings,  toward  this  handsome,  good- 
natured  young  matron. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  saw  your  picture  in  the  Sunday 
paper,  but  your  name  threw  me  off.  I  thought  it  must 
be  you  or  somebody  that  looked  just  like  you,  and  I 
said :  '  Well,  now,  I  will  go  right  down  there  and  see.' 
I  was  never  more  surprised  in  my  life.  How  are  you, 
anyway?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  returned  Carrie.  "  How  have  you 
been?" 

"  Fine.  But  aren't  you  a  success !  Dear,  oh !  All 
the  papers  talking  about  you.  I  should  think  you 
would  be  just  too  proud  to  breathe.  I  was  almost 
afraid  to  come  back  here  this  afternoon." 


502  SISTER   CARRIE 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  said  Carrie,  blushing.  "  You  know 
I'd  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  here  you  are.  Can't  you  come  up 
and  take  dinner  with  me  now?  Where  are  you  stop- 
ping?" 

"  At  the  Wellington,"  said  Carrie,  who  permitted 
herself  a  touch  of  pride  in  the  acknowledgment. 

"Oh,  are  you?"  exclaimed  the  other,  upon  whom 
the  name  was  not  without  its  proper  effect. 

Tactfully,  Mrs.  Vance  avoided  the  subject  of  Hurst- 
wood,  of  whom  she  could  not  help  thinking.  No  doubt 
Carrie  had  left  him.     That  much  she  surmised. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  I  can,"  said  Carrie,  "  to-night.  I 
have  so  little  time.  I  must  be  back  here  by  7.30. 
Won't  you  come  and  dine  with  me  ?  " 

"  I'd  be  delighted,  but  I  can't  to-night,"  said  Mrs. 
Vance,  studying  Carrie's  fine  appearance.  The  latter's 
good  fortune  made  her  seem  more  than  ever  worthy 
and  delightful  in  the  other's  eyes.  "  I  promised  faith- 
fully to  be  home  at  six."  Glancing  at  the  small  gold 
watch  pinned  to  her  bosom,  she  added :  "  I  must  be 
going,  too.     Tell  me  when  you're  coming  up,  if  at  all." 

"  Why,  any  time  you  like,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,  to-morrow  then.  I'm  living  at  the  Chelsea 
now." 

"  Moved  again  ?  "  exclaimed  Carrie,  laughing. 

"  Yes.  You  know  I  can't  stay  six  months  in  one  place. 
I  just  have  to  move.  Remember  now — half-past 
five." 

"  I  won't  forget,"  said  Carrie,  casting  a  glance  at  her 
as  she  went  away.  Then  it  came  to  her  that  she  was 
as  good  as  this  woman  now — perhaps  better.  Some- 
thing in  the  other's  solicitude  and  interest  made  her 
feel  as  if  she  were  the  one  to  condescend. 

Now,  as  on  each  preceding  day,  letters  were  handed 


SISTER   CARRIE 


503 


her  by  the  doorman  at  the  Casino.  This  was  a  feature 
which  had  rapidly  developed  since  Monday.  What 
they  contained  she  well  knew.  Mash  notes  were  old 
affairs  in  their  mildest  form.  She  remembered  having 
received  her  first  one  far  back  in  Columbia  City.  Since 
then,  as  a  chorus  girl,  she  had  received  others — gentle- 
men who  prayed  for  an  engagement.  They  were  com- 
mon sport  between  her  and  Lola,  who  received  some 
also.     They  both  frequently  made  light  of  them. 

Now,  however,  they  came  thick  and  fast.  Gentle- 
men with  fortunes  did  not  hesitate  to  note,  as  an  addi- 
tion to  their  own  amiable  collection  of  virtues,  that 
they  had  their  horses  and  carriages.     Thus  one : 

"I  have  a  million  in  my  own  right.  I  could  give  you  every 
luxury.  There  isn't  anything  you  could  ask  for  that  you  couldn't 
have.  I  say  this,  not  because  I  want  to  speak  of  my  money,  but 
because  I  love  you  and  wish  to  gratify  your  every  desire.  It  is 
love  that  prompts  me  to  write.  Will  you  not  give  me  one  half- 
hour  in  which  to  plead  my  cause  ?  " 

Such  of  these  letters  as  came  while  Carrie  was  still 
in  the  Seventeenth  Street  place  were  read  with  more 
interest — though  never  delight — than  those  which  ar- 
rived after  she  was  installed  in  her  luxurious  quarters 
at  the  Wellington.  Even  there  her  vanity — or  that 
self-appreciation  which,  in  its  more  rabid  form,  is 
called  vanity — was  not  sufficiently  cloyed  to  make 
these  things  wearisome.  Adulation,  being  new  in  any 
form,  pleased  her.  Only  she  was  sufficiently  wise  to 
distinguish  between  her  old  condition  and  her  new  one. 
She  had  not  had  fame  or  money  before.  Now  they 
had  come.  She  had  not  had  adulation  and  affectionate 
propositions  before.  Now  they  had  come.  Where- 
fore? She  smiled  to  think  that  men  should  suddenly 
find  her  so  much  more  attractive.  In  the  least  way  it 
incited  her  to  coolness  and  indifference. 


504  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Do  look  here,"  she  remarked  to  Lola.  "  See  what 
this  man  says :  '  If  you  will  only  deign  to  grant  me  one 
half-hour,'  "  she  repeated,  with  an  imitation  of  languor. 
"  The  idea.     Aren't  men  silly  ?  " 

"  He  must  have  lots  of  money,  the  way  he  talks," 
observed  Lola. 

"  That's  what  they  all  say,"  said  Carrie,  innocently. 

"  Why  don't  you  see  him,"  suggested  Lola,  "  and 
hear  what  he  has  to  say?  " 

"  Indeed  I  won't,"  said  Carrie.  "  I  know  what  he'd 
say.     I  don't  want  to  meet  anybody  that  way." 

Lola  looked  at  her  with  big,  merry  eyes. 

"  He  couldn't  hurt  you,"  she  returned.  "  You  might 
have  some  fun  with  him." 

Carrie  shook  her  head. 

"  You're  awfully  queer,"  returned  the  little,  blue- 
eyed  soldier. 

Thus  crowded  fortune.  For  this  whole  week,  though 
her  large  salary  had  not  yet  arrived,  it  was  as  if  the 
world  understood  and  trusted  her.  Without  money — 
or  the  requisite  sum,  at  least — she  enjoyed  the  luxuries 
which  money  could  buy.  For  her  the  doors  of  fine 
places  seemed  to  open  quite  without  the  asking.  These 
palatial  chambers,  how  marvellously  they  came  to  her. 
The  elegant  apartments  of  Mrs.  Vance  in  the  Chelsea — 
these  were  hers.  Men  sent  flowers,  love  notes,  offers 
of  fortune.  And  still  her  dreams  ran  riot.  The  one 
hundred  and  fifty!  the  one  hundred  and  fifty!  What 
a  door  to  an  Aladdin's  cave  it  seemed  to  be.  Each  day, 
her  head  almost  turned  by  developments,  her  fancies 
of  what  her  fortune  must  be,  with  ample  money,  grew 
and  multiplied.  She  conceived  of  delights  which  were 
not — saw  lights  of  joy  that  never  were  on  land  or  sea. 
Then,  at  last,  after  a  world  of  anticipation,  came  her 
first  installment  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 


SISTER   CARRIE  505 

It  was  paid  to  her  in  greenbacks — three  twenties, 
six  tens,  and  six  fives.  Thus  collected  it  made  a  very- 
convenient  roll.  It  was  accompanied  by  a  smile  and 
a  salutation  from  the  cashier  who  paid  it. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  the  latter,  when  she  applied;  "  Miss 
Madenda — one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Quite  a  suc- 
cess the  show  seems  to  have  made." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  returned  Carrie. 

Right  after  came  one  of  the  insignificant  members 
of  the  company,  and  she  heard  the  changed  tone  of 
address. 

"  How  much  ?  "  said  the  same  cashier,  sharply.  One, 
such  as  she  had  only  recently  been,  was  waiting  for  her 
modest  salary.  It  took  her  back  to  the  few  weeks  in 
which  she  had  collected — or  rather  had  received — al- 
most with  the  air  of  a  domestic,  four-fifty  per  week 
from  a  lordly  foreman  in  a  shoe  factory — a  man  who,  in 
distributing  the  envelopes,  had  the  manner  of  a  prince 
doling  out  favours  to  a  servile  group  of  petitioners. 
She  knew  that  out  in  Chicago  this  very  day  the  same 
factory  chamber  was  full  of  poor  homely-clad  girls 
working  in  long  lines  at  clattering  machines;  that  at 
noon  they  would  eat  a  miserable  lunch  in  a  half-hour ; 
that  Saturday  they  would  gather,  as  they  had  when  she 
was  one  of  them,  and  accept  the  small  pay  for  work  a 
hundred  times  harder  than  she  was  now  doing.  Oh, 
it  was  so  easy  now!  The  world  was  so  rosy  and 
bright.  She  felt  so  thrilled  that  she  must  needs 
walk  back  to  the  hotel  to  think,  wondering  what  she 
should  do. 

It  does  not  take  money  long  to  make  plain  its  im- 
potence, providing  the  desires  are  in  the  realm  of  affec- 
tion. With  her  one  hundred  and  fifty  in  hand,  Carrie 
could  think  of  nothing  particularly  to  do.  In  itself,  as 
a  tangible,  apparent  thing  which  she  could  touch  and 


506  SISTER   CARRIE 

look  upon,  it  was  a  diverting  thing-  for  a  few  days,  but 
this  soon  passed.  Her  hotel  bill  did  not  require  its  use. 
Her  clothes  had  for  some  time  been  wholly  satisfactory. 
Another  day  or  two  and  she  would  receive  another  hun- 
dred and  fifty.  It  began  to  appear  as  if  this  were  not 
so  startlingly  necessary  to  maintain  her  present  state. 
If  she  wanted  to  do  anything  better  or  move  higher  she 
must  have  more — a  great  deal  more. 

Now  a  critic  called  to  get  up  one  of  those  tinsel  inter- 
views which  shine  with  clever  observations,  show  up 
the  wit  of  critics,  display  the  folly  of  celebrities,  and 
divert  the  public.  He  liked  Carrie,  and  said  so,  pub- 
licly— adding,  however,  that  she  was  merely  pretty, 
good-natured,  and  lucky.  This  cut  like  a  knife.  The 
"  Herald,"  getting  up  an  entertainment  for  the  benefit 
of  its  free  ice  fund,  did  her  the  honour  to  beg  her  to  ap- 
pear along  with  celebrities  for  nothing.  She  was  vis- 
ited by  a  young  author,  who  had  a  play  which  he 
thought  she  could  produce.  Alas,  she  could  not  judge. 
It  hurt  her  to  think  it.  Then  she  found  she  must  put 
her  money  in  the  bank  for  safety,  and  so  moving,  finally 
reached  the  place  where  it  struck  her  that  the  door  to 
life's  perfect  enjoyment  was  not  open. 

Gradually  she  began  to  think  it  was  because  it  was 
summer.  Nothing  was  going  on  much  save  such  en- 
tertainments as  the  one  in  which  she  was  star.  Fifth 
Avenue  was  boarded  up  where  the  rich  had  deserted 
their  mansions.  Madison  Avenue  was  little  better. 
Broadway  was  full  of  loafing  thespians  in  search  of  next 
season  engagements.  The  whole  city  was  quiet  and 
her  nights  were  taken  up  with  her  work.  Hence  the 
feeling  that  there  was  little  to  do. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  to  Lola  one  day,  sitting  at 
one  of  the  windows  which  looked  down  into  Broad- 
way, "  I  get  lonely;  don't  you?  " 


SISTER   CARRIE  507 

"  No,"  said  Lola,  "  not  very  often.  You  won't  go 
anywhere.     That's  what's  the  matter  with  you." 

"Where  can  I  go?" 

"  Why,  there're  lots  of  places,"  returned  Lola,  who 
was  thinking  of  her  own  lightsome  tourneys  with  the 
gay  youths.     "  You  won't  go  with  anybody." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  with  these  people  who  write  to 
me.     I  know  what  kind  they  are." 

"  You  oughtn't  to  be  lonely,"  said  Lola,  thinking  of 
Carrie's  success.  "  There're  lots  would  give  their  ears 
to  be  in  your  shoes." 

Carrie  looked  out  again  at  the  passing  crowd. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

Unconsciously  her  idle  hands  were  beginning  to 
weary. 


CHAPTER   XLV 

CURIOUS    SHIFTS    OF    THE    POOR 

The  gloomy  Hurstwood,  sitting  in  his  cheap  hotel, 
where  he  had  taken  refuge  with  seventy  dollars — the 
price  of  his  furniture — between  him  and  nothing,  saw 
a  hot  summer  out  and  a  cool  fall  in,  reading.  He  was 
not  wholly  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  his  money  was 
slipping  away.  As  fifty  cents  after  fifty  cents  were  paid 
out  for  a  day's  lodging  he  became  uneasy,  and  finally 
took  a  cheaper  room — thirty-five  cents  a  day — to  make 
his  money  last  longer.  Frequently  he  saw  notices  of 
Carrie.  Her  picture  was  in  the  "  World  "  once  or 
twice,  and  an  old  "  Herald  "  he  found  in  a  chair  in- 
formed him  that  she  had  recently  appeared  with  some 
others  at  a  benefit  for  something  or  other.  He  read 
these  things  with  mingled  feelings.  Each  one  seemed 
to  put  her  farther  and  farther  away  into  a  realm  which 
became  more  imposing  as  it  receded  from  him.  On 
the  bill-boards,  too,  he  saw  a  pretty  poster,  showing 
her  as  the  Quaker  Maid,  demure  and  dainty.  More 
than  once  he  stopped  and  looked  at  these,  gazing  at 
the  pretty  face  in  a  sullen  sort  of  way.  His  clothes 
were  shabby,  and  he  presented  a  marked  contrast  to 
all  that  she  now  seemed  to  be. 

Somehow,  so  long  as  he  knew  she  was  at  the  Casino, 
though  he  had  never  any  intention  of  going  near  her, 
there  was  a  sub-conscious  comfort  for  him — he  was  not 
quite  alone.  The  show  seemed  such  a  fixture  that,  after 
a  month  or  two,  he  began  to  take  it  for  granted  that  it 


SISTER   CARRIE  509 

was  still  running.  In  September  it  went  on  the  road 
and  he  did  not  notice  it.  When  all  but  twenty  dollars 
of  his  money  was  gone,  he  moved  to  a  fifteen-cent 
lodging-house  in  the  Bowery,  where  there  was  a  bare 
lounging-room  filled  with  tables  and  benches  as  well 
as  some  chairs.  Here  his  preference  was  to  close  his 
eyes  and  dream  of  other  days,  a  habit  which  grew  upon 
him.  It  was  not  sleep  at  first,  but  a  mental  hearkening 
back  to  scenes  and  incidents  in  his  Chicago  life.  As 
the  present  became  darker,  the  past  grew  brighter,  and 
all  that  concerned  it  stood  in  relief. 

He  was  unconscious  of  just  how  much  this  habit  had 
hold  of  him  until  one  day  he  found  his  lips  repeating 
an  old  answer  he  had  made  to  one  of  his  friends.  They 
were  in  Fitzgerald  and  Moy's.  It  was  as  if  he  stood 
in  the  door  of  his  elegant  little  office,  comfortably 
dressed,  talking  to  Sagar  Morrison  about  the  value  of 
South  Chicago  real  estate  in  which  the  latter  was  about 
to  invest. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  come  in  on  that  with  me?  " 
he  heard  Morrison  say. 

"  Not  me,"  he  answered,  just  as  he  had  years  before. 
"  I  have  my  hands  full  now." 

The  movement  of  his  lips  aroused  him.  He  won- 
dered whether  he  had  really  spoken.  The  next  time 
he  noticed  anything  of  the  sort  he  really  did  talk. 

"Why  don't  you  jump,  you  bloody  fool?"  he  was 
saying.     "  Jump !  " 

It  was  a  funny  English  story  he  was  telling  to  a  com- 
pany of  actors.  Even  as  his  voice  recalled  him,  he  was 
smiling.  A  crusty  old  codger,  sitting  near  by,  seemed 
disturbed;  at  least,  he  stared  in  a  most  pointed  way. 
Hurstwood  straightened  up.  The  humour  of  the 
memory  fled  in  an  instant  and  he  felt  ashamed.  For 
relief,  he  left  his  chair  and  strolled  out  into  the  streets. 


5io 


SISTER   CARRIE 


One  day,  looking  down  the  ad.  columns  of  the 
"  Evening  World,"  he  saw  where  a  new  play  was  at 
the  Casino.  Instantly,  he  came  to  a  mental  halt.  Car- 
rie had  gone !  He  remembered  seeing  a  poster  of  her 
only  yesterday,  but  no  doubt  it  was  one  left  uncovered 
by  the  new  signs.  Curiously,  this  fact  shook  him  up. 
He  had  almost  to  admit  that  somehow  he  was  depend- 
ing upon  her  being  in  the  city.  Now  she  was  gone. 
He  wondered  how  this  important  fact  had  skipped  him. 
Goodness  knows  when  she  would  be  back  now.  Im- 
pelled by  a  nervous  fear,  he  rose  and  went  into  the 
dingy  hall,  where  he  counted  his  remaining  money,  un- 
seen.    There  were  but  ten  dollars  in  all. 

He  wondered  how  all  these  other  lodging-house 
people  around  him  got  along.  They  didn't  seem  to 
do  anything.  Perhaps  they  begged — unquestionably 
they  did.  Many  was  the  dime  he  had  given  to  such 
as  they  in  his  day.  He  had  seen  other  men  asking  for 
money  on  the  streets.  Maybe  he  could  get  some  that 
way.     There  was  horror  in  this  thought. 

Sitting  in  the  lodging-house  room,  he  came  to  his 
last  fifty  cents.  He  had  saved  and  counted  until  his 
health  was  affected.  His  stoutness  had  gone.  With 
it,  even  the  semblance  of  a  fit  in  his  clothes.  Now  he 
decided  he  must  do  something,  and,  walking  about,  saw 
another  day  go  by,  bringing  him  down  to  his  last 
twenty  cents — not  enough  to  eat  for  the  morrow. 

Summoning  all  his  courage,  he  crossed  to  Broadway 
and  up  to  the  Broadway  Central  hotel.  Within  a  block 
he  halted,  undecided.  A  big,  heavy-faced  porter  was 
standing  at  one  of  the  side  entrances,  looking  out. 
Hurstwood  purposed  to  appeal  to  him.  Walking 
straight  up,  he  was  upon  him  before  he  could  turn 
away. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  recognising  even  in  his  plight 


SISTER   CARRIE  51 1 

the  man's  inferiority,  "  is  there  anything  about  this 
hotel  that  I  could  get  to  do  ?  " 

The  porter  stared  at  him  the  while  he  continued  to 
talk. 

'"I'm  out  of  work  and  out  of  money  and  I've  got 
to  get  something — it  doesn't  matter  what.  I  don't 
care  to  talk  about  what  I've  been,  but  if  you'd  tell  me 
how  to  get  something  to  do,  I'd  be  much  obliged  to 
you.  It  wouldn't  matter  if  it  only  lasted  a  few  days 
just  now.     I've  got  to  have  something." 

The  porter  still  gazed,  trying  to  look  indifferent. 
Then,  seeing  that  Hurstwood  was  about  to  go  on,  he 
said: 

"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You'll  have  to  ask 
inside." 

Curiously,  this  stirred  Hurstwood  to  further  effort. 

"  I  thought  you  might  tell  me." 

The  fellow  shook  his  head  irritably. 

Inside  went  the  ex-manager  and  straight  to  an  office 
off  the  clerk's  desk.  One  of  the  managers  of  the  hotel 
happened  to  be  there.  Hurstwood  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye. 

"  Could  you  give  me  something  to  do  for  a  few 
days?"  he  said.  "I'm  in  a  position  where  I  have  to 
get  something  at  once." 

The  comfortable  manager  looked  at  him,  as  much 
as  to  say:  "  Well,  I  should  judge  so." 

"  I  came  here,"  explained  Hurstwood,  nervously, 
"  because  I've  been  a  manager  myself  in  my  day. 
I've  had  bad  luck  in  a  way,  but  I'm  not  here  to  tell 
you  that.  I  want  something  to  do,  if  only  for  a 
week." 

The  man  imagined  he  saw  a  feverish  gleam  in  the 
applicant's  eye. 

"What  hotel  did  you  manage?"  he  inquired. 


512  SISTER   CARRIE 

"  It  wasn't  a  hotel,"  said  Hurstwood.  "  I  was  man- 
ager of  Fitzgerald  and  Moy's  place  in  Chicago  for  fif- 
teen years." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  said  the  hotel  man.  "  How  did  you 
come  to  get  out  of  that?  " 

The  figure  of  Hurstwood  was  rather  surprising  in 
contrast  to  the  fact. 

"  Well,  by  foolishness  of  my  own.  It  isn't  anything 
to  talk  about  now.  You  could  find  out  if  you  wanted 
to.  I'm  '  broke '  now  and,  if  you  will  believe  me,  I 
haven't  eaten  anything  to-day." 

The  hotel  man  was  slightly  interested  in  this  story. 
He  could  hardly  tell  what  to  do  with  such  a  figure,  and 
yet  Hurstwood's  earnestness  made  him  wish  to  do 
something. 

li  Call  Olsen,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  clerk. 

In  reply  to  a  bell  and  a  disappearing  hall-boy,  Olsen, 
the  head  porter,  appeared. 

"  Olsen,"  said  the  manager,  "  is  there  anything  down- 
stairs you  could  find  for  this  man  to  do  ?  I'd  like  to  give 
him  something." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Olsen.  "  We  have  about 
all  the  help  we  need.  I  think  I  could  find  something, 
sir,  though,  if  you  like." 

"  Do.  Take  him  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  Wilson  to 
give  him  something  to  eat." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  Olsen. 

Hurstwood  followed.  Out  of  the  manager's  sight, 
the  head  porter's  manner  changed. 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  devil  there  is  to  do,"  he 
observed. 

Hurstwood  said  nothing.  To  him  the  big  trunk 
hustler  was  a  subject  for  private  contempt. 

"  You're  to  give  this  man  something  to  eat,"  he  ob- 
served to  the  cook. 


SISTER  CARRIE  513 

The  latter  looked  Hurstwood  over,  and  seeing  some- 
thing keen  and  intellectual  in  his  eyes,  said: 

"  Well,  sit  down  over  there." 

Thus  was  Hurstwood  installed  in  the  Broadway  Cen- 
tral, but  not  for  long.  He  was  in  no  shape  or  mood 
to  do  the  scrub  work  that  exists  about  the  foundation 
of  every  hotel.  Nothing  better  offering,  he  was  set  to 
aid  the  fireman,  to  work  about  the  basement,  to  do  any- 
thing and  everything  that  might  offer.  Porters,  cooks, 
firemen,  clerks — all  were  over  him.  Moreover  his  ap- 
pearance did  not  please  these  individuals — his  temper 
was  too  lonely — and  they  made  it  disagreeable  for  him. 

With  the  stolidity  and  indifference  of  despair,  how- 
ever, he  endured  it  all,  sleeping  in  an  attic  at  the  roof 
of  the  house,  eating  what  the  cook  gave  him,  accepting 
a  few  dollars  a  week,  which  he  tried  to  save.  His  con- 
stitution was  in  no  shape  to  endure. 

One  day  the  following  February  he  was  sent  on  an 
errand  to  a  large  coal  company's  office.  It  had  been 
snowing  and  thawing  and  the  streets  were  sloppy.  He 
soaked  his  shoes  in  his  progress  and  came  back  feeling 
dull  and  weary.  All  the  next  day  he  felt  unusually  de- 
pressed and  sat  about  as  much  as  possible,  to  the  irri- 
tation of  those  who  admired  energy  in  others. 

In  the  afternoon  some  boxes  were  to  be  moved  to 
make  room  for  new  culinary  supplies.  He  was  ordered 
to  handle  a  truck.  Encountering  a  big  box,  he  could 
not  lift  it. 

"  What's  the  matter  there  ?  "  said  the  head  porter. 
"Can't  you  handle  it?" 

He  was  straining  hard  to  lift  it,  but  now  he  quit. 

"  No,"  he  said,  weakly. 

The  man  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  he  was  deathly 
pale. 

"  Not  sick,  are  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

33 


514  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I  think  I  am,"  returned  Hurstwood. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  go  sit  down,  then." 

This  he  did,  but  soon  grew  rapidly  worse.  It  seemed 
all  he  could  do  to  crawl  to  his  room,  where  he  remained 
for  a  day. 

"  That  man  Wheeler's  sick,"  reported  one  of  the 
lackeys  to  the  night  clerk. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"  I  don't  know.     He's  got  a  high  fever." 

The  hotel  physician  looked  at  him. 

"Better  send  him  to  Bellevue,"  he  recommended. 
"  He's  got  pneumonia." 

Accordingly,  he  was  carted  away. 

In  three  weeks  the  worst  was  over,  but  it  was  nearly 
the  first  of  May  before  his  strength  permitted  him  to 
be  turned  out.     Then  he  was  discharged. 

No  more  weakly  looking  object  ever  strolled  out  into 
the  spring  sunshine  than  the  once  hale,  lusty  manager. 
All  his  corpulency  had  fled.  His  face  was  thin  and 
pale,  his  hands  white,  his  body  flabby.  Clothes  and 
all,  he  weighed  but  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  pounds. 
Some  old  garments  had  been  given  him — a  cheap 
brown  coat  and  misfit  pair  of  trousers.  Also  some 
change  and  advice.  He  was  told  to  apply  to  the 
charities. 

Again  he  resorted  to  the  Bowery  lodging-house, 
brooding  over  where  to  look.  From  this  it  was  but  a 
step  to  beggary. 

"What  can  a  man  do?"  he  said.     "I  can't  starve." 

His  first  application  was  in  sunny  Second  Avenue. 
A  well-dressed  man  came  leisurely  strolling  toward 
him  out  of  Stuyvesant  Park.  Hurstwood  nerved  him- 
self and  sidled  near. 

"Would  you  mind  giving  me  ten  cents?"  he  said, 
directly.  "I'm  in  a  position  where  I  must  ask  someone." 


SISTER  CARRIE  515 

The  man  scarcely  looked  at  him,  but  fished  in  his  vest 
pocket  and  took  out  a  dime. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said. 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  Hurstwood,  softly,  but  the 
other  paid  no  more  attention  to  him. 

Satisfied  with  his  success  and  yet  ashamed  of  his 
situation,  he  decided  that  he  would  only  ask  for  twenty- 
five  cents  more,  since  that  would  be  sufficient.  He 
strolled  about  sizing  up  people,  but  it  was  long  before 
just  the  right  face  and  situation  arrived.  When  he 
asked,  he  was  refused.  Shocked  by  this  result,  he  took 
an  hour  to  recover  and  then  asked  again.  This  time 
a  nickel  was  given  him.  By  the  most  watchful  effort 
he  did  get  twenty  cents  more,  but  it  was  painful. 

The  next  day  he  resorted  to  the  same  effort,  expe- 
riencing a  variety  of  rebuffs  and  one  or  two  generous 
receptions.  At  last  it  crossed  his  mind  that  there  was 
a  science  of  faces,  and  that  a  man  could  pick  the  liberal 
countenance  if  he  tried. 

It  was  no  pleasure  to  him,  however,  this  stopping  of 
passers-by.  He  saw  one  man  taken  up  for  it  and  now 
troubled  lest  he  should  be  arrested.  Nevertheless,  he 
went  on,  vaguely  anticipating  that  indefinite  something 
which  is  always  better. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  satisfaction,  then,  that  he  saw 
announced  one  morning  the  return  of  the  Casino  Com- 
pany, "  with  Miss  Carrie  Madenda."  He  had  thought 
of  her  often  enough  in  days  past.  How  successful  she 
was — how  much  money  she  must  have !  Even  now, 
however,  it  took  a  severe  run  of  ill-luck  to  decide 
him  to  appeal  to  her.  He  was  truly  hungry  before  he 
said: 

"  I'll  ask  her.     She  won't  refuse  me  a  few  dollars." 

Accordingly,  he  headed  for  the  Casino  one  afternoon, 
passing  it  several  times  in  an  effort  to  locate  the  stage 


516  SISTER   CARRIE 

entrance.  Then  he  sat  in  Bryant  Park,  a  block  away, 
waiting.  "  She  can't  refuse  to  help  me  a  little,"  he  kept 
saying  to  himself. 

Beginning  with  half-past  six,  he  hovered  like  a  sha- 
dow about  the  Thirty-ninth  Street  entrance,  pretend- 
ing always  to  be  a  hurrying  pedestrian  and  yet  fearful 
lest  he  should  miss  his  object.  He  Was  slightly  ner- 
vous, too,  now  that  the  eventful  hour  had  arrived ;  but 
being  weak  and  hungry,  his  ability  to  suffer  was  modi- 
fied. At  last  he  saw  that  the  actors  were  beginning  to 
arrive,  and  his  nervous  tension  increased,  until  it  seemed 
as  if  he  could  not  stand  much  more. 

Once  he  thought  he  saw  Carrie  coming  and  moved 
forward,  only  to  see  that  he  was  mistaken. 

"  She  can't  be  long,  now,"  he  said  to  himself,  half 
fearing  to  encounter  her  and  equally  depressed  at  the 
thought  that  she  might  have  gone  in  by  another  way. 
His  stomach  was  so  empty  that  it  ached. 

Individual  after  individual  passed  him,  nearly  all  well 
dressed,  almost  all  indifferent.  He  saw  coaches  rolling 
by,  gentlemen  passingwith  ladies — the  evening's  merri- 
ment was  beginning  in  this  region  of  theatres  and  hotels. 

Suddenly  a  coach  rolled  up  and  the  driver  jumped 
doWn  to  open  the  door.  Before  Hurstwood  could  act, 
two  ladies  flounced  across  the  broad  walk  and  disap- 
peared in  the  stage  door.  He  thought  he  saw  Carrie, 
but  it  was  so  unexpected,  so  elegant  and  far  away,  he 
could  hardly  tell.  He  Waited  a  while  longer,  growing 
feverish  with  want,  and  then  seeing  that  the  stage  door 
no  longer  opened,  and  that  a  merry  audience  was  arriv- 
ing, he  concluded  it  must  have  been  Carrie  and  turned 
away. 

"  Lord,"  he  said,  hastening  out  of  the  street  into 
which  the  more  fortunate  were  pouring,  "  I've  got  to 
get  something." 


SISTER  CARRIE  517 

At  that  hour,  when  Broadway  is  wont  to  assume  its 
most  interesting  aspect,  a  peculiar  individual  invari- 
ably took  his  stand  at  the  corner  of  Twenty-sixth  Street 
and  Broadway — a  spot  which  is  also  intersected  by 
Fifth  Avenue.  This  was  the  hour  when  the  theatres 
were  just  beginning  to  receive  their  patrons.  Fire 
signs  announcing  the  night's  amusements  blazed  on 
every  hand.  Cabs  and  carriages,  their  lamps  gleam- 
ing like  yellow  eyes,  pattered  by.  Couples  and  parties 
of  three  and  four  freely  mingled  in  the  common  crowd, 
which  poured  by  in  a  thick  stream,  laughing  and  jest- 
ing. On  Fifth  Avenue  were  loungers — a  few  wealthy 
strollers,  a  gentleman  in  evening  dress  with  his  lady 
on  his  arm,  some  clubmen  passing  from  one  smoking- 
room  to  another.  Across  the  way  the  great  hotels 
showed  a  hundred  gleaming  windows,  their  cafes  and 
billiard-rooms  filled  with  a  comfortable,  well-dressed, 
and  pleasure-loving  throng.  All  about  was  the  night, 
pulsating  with  the  thoughts  of  pleasure,  and  exhilara- 
tion— the  curious  enthusiasm  of  a  great  city  bent  upon 
finding  joy  in  a  thousand  different  ways. 

This  unique  individual  was  no  less  than  an  ex-soldier 
turned  religionist,  who,  having  suffered  the  whips  and 
privations  of  our  peculiar  social  system,  had  concluded 
that  his  duty  to  the  God  which  he  conceived  lay  in  aid- 
ing his  fellow-man.  The  form  of  aid  which  he  chose 
to  administer  was  entirely  original  with  himself.  It 
consisted  of  securing  a  bed  for  all  such  homeless  way- 
farers as  should  apply  to  him  at  this  particular  spot, 
though  he  had  scarcely  the  wherewithal  to  provide  a 
comfortable  habitation  for  himself. 

Taking  his  place  amid  this  lightsome  atmosphere,  he 
would  stand,  his  stocky  figure  cloaked  in  a  great  cape 
overcoat,  his  head  protected  by  a  broad  slouch  hat, 
awaiting   the   applicants   who   had   in   various   ways 


518  SISTER  CARRIE 

learned  the  nature  of  his  charity.  For  a  while  he  would 
stand  alone,  gazing  like  any  idler  upon  an  ever-fascinat- 
ing scene.  On  the  evening  in  question,  a  policeman 
passing  saluted  him  as  "  captain,"  in  a  friendly  way. 
An  urchin  who  had  frequently  seen  him  before, 
stopped  to  gaze.  All  others  took  him  for  nothing  out 
of  the  ordinary,  save  in  the  matter  of  dress,  and  con- 
ceived of  him  as  a  stranger  whistling  and  idling  for 
his  own  amusement. 

As  the  first  half-hour  waned,  certain  characters  ap- 
peared. Here  and  there  in  the  passing  crowds  one 
might  see,  now  and  then,  a  loiterer  edging  interestedly 
near.  A  slouchy  figure  crossed  the  opposite  corner  and 
glanced  furtively  in  his  direction.  Another  came  down 
Fifth  Avenue  to  the  corner  of  Twenty-sixth  Street, 
took  a  general  survey,  and  hobbled  off  again.  Two  or 
three  noticeable  Bowery  types  edged  along  the  Fifth 
Avenue  side  of  Madison  Square,  but  did  not  venture 
over.  The  soldier,  in  his  cape  overcoat,  walked  a  short 
line  of  ten  feet  at  his  corner,  to  and  fro,  indifferently 
whistling. 

As  nine  o'clock  approached,  some  of  the  hubbub  of 
the  earlier  hour  passed.  The  atmosphere  of  the  hotels 
was  not  so  youthful.  The  air,  too,  was  colder.  On 
every  hand  curious  figures  were  moving — watchers 
and  peepers,  without  an  imaginary  circle,  which  they 
seemed  afraid  to  enter — a  dozen  in  all.  Presently,  with 
the  arrival  of  a  keener  sense  of  cold,  one  figure  came 
forward.  It  crossed  Broadway  from  out  the  shadow  of 
Twenty-sixth  Street,  and,  in  a  halting,  circuitous  way, 
arrived  close  to  the  waiting  figure.  There  was  some- 
thing shamefaced  or  diffident  about  the  movement,  as 
if  the  intention  were  to  conceal  any  idea  of  stopping 
until  the  very  last  moment.  Then  suddenly,  close  to 
the  soldier,  came  the  halt. 


SISTER   CARRIE  519 

The  captain  looked  in  recognition,  but  there  was  no 
especial  greeting.  The, newcomer  nodded  slightly  and 
murmured  something  like  one  who  waits  for  gifts.  The 
other  simply  motioned  toward  the  edge  of  the  walk. 

"  Stand  over  there,"  he  said. 

By  this  the  spell  was  broken.  Even  while  the  sol- 
dier resumed  his  short,  solemn  walk,  other  figures  shuf- 
fled forward.  They  did  not  so  much  as  greet  the 
leader,  but  joined  the  one,  sniffling  and  hitching  and 
scraping  their  feet. 

"Cold,  ain't  it?" 

"  I'm  glad  winter's  over." 

"  Looks  as  though  it  might  rain." 

The  motley  company  had  increased  to  ten.  One  or 
two  knew  each  other  and  conversed.  Others  stood  off 
a  few  feet,  not  wishing  to  be  in  the  crowd  and  yet  not 
counted  out.  They  were  peevish,  crusty,  silent,  eying 
nothing  in  particular  and  moving  their  feet. 

There  would  have  been  talking  soon,  but  the  soldier 
gave  them  no  chance.  Counting  sufficient  to  begin,  he 
came  forward. 

"Beds,  eh,  all  of  you?" 

There  was  a  general  shuffle  and  murmur  of  approval. 

"Well,  line  up  here.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do.  I 
haven't  a  cent  myself." 

They  fell  into  a  sort  of  broken,  ragged  line.  One 
might  see,  now,  some  of  the  chief  characteristics  by 
contrast.  There  was  a  wooden  leg  in  the  line.  Hats 
were  all  drooping,  a  group  that  would  ill  become 
a  second-hand  Hester  Street  basement  collection. 
Trousers  were  all  warped  and  frayed  at  the  bottom 
and  coats  worn  and  faded.  In  the  glare  of  the  store 
lights,  some  of  the  faces  looked  dry  and  chalky;  others 
were  red  with  blotches  and  puffed  in  the  cheeks  and 
under  the  eyes ;  one  or  two  were  rawboned  and  reminded 


520  SISTER   CARRIE 

one  of  railroad  hands.  A  few  spectators  came  near, 
drawn  by  the  seemingly  conferring  group,  then  more  and 
more,  and  quickly  there  was  a  pushing,  gaping  crowd. 
Some  one  in  the  line  began  to  talk. 

"  Silence  !  "  exclaimed  the  captain.  "  Now,  then, 
gentlemen,  these  men  are  without  beds.  They  have  to 
have  some  place  to  sleep  to-night.  They  can't  lie  out 
in  the  streets.  I  need  twelve  cents  to  put  one  of  them 
to  bed.     Who  will  give  it  to  me?  " 

No  reply. 

"  Well,  we'll  have  to  wait  here,  boys,  until  some  one 
does.     Twelve  cents  isn't  so  very  much  for  one  man." 

"  Here's  fifteen,"  exclaimed  a  young  man,  peering 
forward  with  strained  eyes.     "  It's  all  I  can  afford." 

"  All  right.  Now  I  have  fifteen.  Step  out  of  the 
line,"  and  seizing  one  by  the  shoulder,  the  captain 
marched  him  off  a  little  way  and  stood  him  up  alone. 

Coming  back,  he  resumed  his  place  and  began 
again. 

"  I  have  three  cents  left.  These  men  must  be  put 
to  bed  somehow.  There  are  " — counting — "  one,  two, 
three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven, 
twelve  men.  Nine  cents  more  will  put  the  next  man 
to  bed;  give  him  a  good,  comfortable  bed  for  the  night. 
I  go  right  along  and  look  after  that  myself.  Who  will 
give  me  nine  cents  ?  " 

One  of  the  watchers,  this  time  a  middle-aged  man, 
handed  him  a  five-cent  piece. 

"  Now,  I  have  eight  cents.  Four  more  will  give  this 
man  a  bed.  Come,  gentlemen.  We  are  going  very 
slow  this  evening.  You  all  have  good  beds.  How 
about  these?  " 

"  Here  you  are,"  remarked  a  bystander,  putting  a 
coin  into  his  hand. 

"  That,"  said  the  captain,  looking  at  the  coin,  "  pays 


SISTER   CARRIE  521 

for  two  beds  for  two  men  and  gives  me  five  on  the  next 
one.     Who  will  give  me  seven  cents  more?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  a  voice. 

Coming  down  Sixth  Avenue  this  evening,  Hurst- 
wood  chanced  to  cross  east  through  Twenty-sixth 
Street  toward  Third  Avenue.  He  was  wholly  dis- 
consolate in  spirit,  hungry  to  what  he  deemed  an  al- 
most mortal  extent,  weary,  and  defeated.  How  should 
he  get  at  Carrie  now?  It  would  be  eleven  before  the 
show  was  over.  If  she  came  in  a  coach,  she  would  go 
away  in  one.  He  would  need  to  interrupt  under  most 
trying  circumstances.  Worst  of  all,  he  was  hungry 
and  weary,  and  at  best  a  whole  day  must  intervene,  for 
he  had  not  heart  to  try  again  to-night.  He  had  no  food 
and  no  bed. 

When  he  neared  Broadway,  he  noticed  the  captain's 
gathering  of  wanderers,  but  thinking  it  to  be  the  result 
of  a  street  preacher  or  some  patent  medicine  fakir,  was 
about  to  pass  on.  However,  in  crossing  the  street  to- 
ward Madison  Square  Park,  he  noticed  the  line  of  men 
whose  beds  were  already  secured,  stretching  out  from 
the  main  body  of  the  crowd.  In  the  glare  of  the  neigh- 
bouring electric  light  he  recognised  a  type  of  his  own 
kind — the  figures  whom  he  saw  about  the  streets  and 
in  the  lodging-houses,  drifting  in  mind  and  body  like 
himself.  He  wondered  what  it  could  be  and  turned 
back. 

There  was  the  captain  curtly  pleading  as  before. 
He  heard  with  astonishment  and  a  sense  of  relief  the 
oft-repeated  words :  "  These  men  must  have  a  bed." 
Before  him  was  the  line  of  unfortunates  whose  beds 
were  yet  to  be  had,  and  seeing  a  newcomer  quietly 
edge  up  and  take  a  position  at  the  end  of  the  line,  he 
decided  to  do  likewise.  What  use  to  contend?  He 
was  weary  to-night.     It  was  a  simple  way  out  of  one 


522  SISTER   CARRIE 

difficulty,  at  least.  To-morrow,  maybe,  he  would  do 
better. 

Back  of  him,  where  some  of  those  were  whose  beds 
were  safe,  a  relaxed  air  was  apparent.  The  strain  of 
uncertainty  being  removed,  he  heard  them  talking  with 
moderate  freedom  and  some  leaning  toward  sociability. 
Politics,  religion,  the  state  of  the  government,  some  news- 
paper sensations,  and  the  more  notorious  facts  the  world 
over,  found  mouthpieces  and  auditors  there.  Cracked 
and  husky  voices  pronounced  forcibly  upon  odd  matters. 
Vague  and  rambling  observations  were  made  in  reply. 

There  were  squints,  and  leers,  and  some  dull,  ox- 
like  stares  from  those  who  were  too  dull  or  too  weary 
to  converse. 

Standing  tells.  Hurstwood  became  more  weary 
waiting.  He  thought  he  should  drop  soon  and  shifted 
restlessly  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  At  last  his  turn 
came.  The  man  ahead  had  been  paid  for  and  gone  to 
the  blessed  line  of  success.  He  was  now  first,  and 
already  the  captain  was  talking  for  him. 

"  Twelve  cents,  gentlemen — twelve  cents  puts  this 
man  to  bed.  He  wouldn't  stand  here  in  the  cold  if  he 
had  any  place  to  go." 

Hurstwood  swallowed  something  that  rose  to  his 
throat.  Hunger  and  weakness  had  made  a  coward  of 
him. 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  a  stranger,  handing  money  to 
the  captain. 

Now  the  latter  put  a  kindly  hand  on  the  ex-manager's 
shoulder. 

"  Line  up  over  there,"  he  said. 

Once  there,  Hurstwood  breathed  easier.  He  felt  as 
if  the  world  were  not  quite  so  bad  with  such  a  good 
man  in  it.  Others  seemed  to  feel  like  himself  about 
this. 


SISTER  CARRIE  523 

"Captain's  a  great  feller,  ain't  he?"  said  the  man 
ahead — a  little,  woe-begone,  helpless-looking  sort  of 
individual,  who  looked  as  though  he  had  ever  been  the 
sport  and  care  of  fortune. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hurstwood,  indifferently. 

"  Huh !  there's  a  lot  back  there  yet,"  said  a  man 
farther  up,  leaning  out  and  looking  back  at  the  appli- 
cants for  whom  the  captain  was  pleading. 

"  Yes.  Must  be  over  a  hundred  to-night,"  said  an- 
other. 

"  Look  at  the  guy  in  the  cab,"  observed  a  third. 

A  cab  had  stopped.  Some  gentleman  in  evening 
dress  reached  out  a  bill  to  the  captain,  who  took  it  with 
simple  thanks  and  turned  away  to  his  line.  There  was 
a  general  craning  of  necks  as  the  jewel  in  the  white  shirt 
front  sparkled  and  the  cab  moved  off.  Even  the  crowd 
gaped  in  awe. 

"  That  fixes  up  nine  men  for  the  night,"  said  the 
captain,  counting  out  as  many  of  the  line  near  him. 
"  Line  up  over  there.  Now,  then,  there  are  only  seven. 
I  need  twelve  cents." 

Money  came  slowly.  In  the  course  of  time  the 
crowd  thinned  out  to  a  meagre  handful.  Fifth  Avenue, 
save  for  an  occasional  cab  or  foot  passenger,  was  bare. 
Broadway  was  thinly  peopled  with  pedestrians.  Only 
now  and  then  a  stranger  passing  noticed  the  small  group, 
handed  out  a  coin,  and  went  away,  unheeding. 

The  captain  remained  stolid  and  determined.  He 
talked  on,  very  slowly,  uttering  the  fewest  words  and 
with  a  certain  assurance,  as  though  he  could  not  fail. 

"  Come ;  I  can't  stay  out  here  all  night.  These  men  are 
getting  tired  and  cold.     Some  one  give  me  four  cents." 

There  came  a  time  when  he  said  nothing  at  all. 
Money  was  handed  him,  and  for  each  twelve  cents  he 
singled  out  a  man  and  put  him  in  the  other  line.     Then 


524  SISTER  CARRIE 

he  walked  up  and  down  as  before,  looking  at  the 
ground. 

The  theatres  let  out.  Fire  signs  disappeared.  A 
clock  struck  eleven.  Another  half-hour  and  he  was 
down  to  the  last  two  men. 

"  Come,  now,"  he  exclaimed  to  several  curious  ob- 
servers ;  "  eighteen  cents  will  fix  us  all  up  for  the 
night.  Eighteen  cents.  I  have  six.  Somebody  give 
me  the  money.  Remember,  I  have  to  go  over  to  Brook- 
lyn yet  to-night.  Before  that  I  have  to  take  these  men 
down  and  put  them  to  bed.     Eighteen  cents." 

No  one  responded.  He  walked  to  and  fro,  looking 
down  for  several  minutes,  occasionally  saying  softly: 
"  Eighteen  cents."  It  seemed  as  if  this  paltry  sum 
would  delay  the  desired  culmination  longer  than  all 
the  rest  had.  Hurstwood,  buoyed  up  slightly  by  the 
long  line  of  which  he  was  a  part,  refrained  with  an 
effort  from  groaning,  he  was  so  weak. 

At  last  a  lady  in  opera  cape  and  rustling  skirts  came 
down  Fifth  Avenue,  accompanied  by  her  escort.  Hurst- 
wood gazed  wearily,  reminded  by  her  both  of  Carrie 
in  her  new  world  and  of  the  time  when  he  had  escorted 
his  own  wife  in  like  manner. 

While  he  was  gazing,  she  turned  and,  looking  at  the 
remarkable  company,  sent  her  escort  over.  He  came, 
holding  a  bill  in  his  fingers,  all  elegant  and  graceful. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said. 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  captain,  turning  to  the  two  remain- 
ing applicants.  "  Now  we  have  some  for  to-morrow 
night,"  he  added. 

Therewith  he  lined  up  the  last  two  and  proceeded  to  the 
head,  counting  as  he  went. 

"  One  hundred  and  thirty-seven,"  he  announced. 
"  Now,  boys,  line  up.  Right  dress  there.  We  won't 
be  much  longer  about  this.     Steady,  now." 


SISTER   CARRIE  525 

He  placed  himself  at  the  head  and  called  out  "  For- 
ward." Hurstwood  moved  with  the  line.  Across 
Fifth  Avenue,  through  Madison  Square  by  the  wind- 
ing paths,  east  on  Twenty-third  Street,  and  down  Third 
Avenue  wound  the  long,  serpentine  company.  Mid- 
night pedestrians  and  loiterers  stopped  and  stared  as 
the  company  passed.  Chatting  policemen,  at  various 
corners,  stared  indifferently  or  nodded  to  the  leader, 
whom  they  had  seen  before.  On  Third  Avenue  they 
marched,  a  seemingly  weary  way,  to  Eighth  Street, 
where  there  was  a  lodging-house,  closed,  apparently, 
for  the  night.     They  were  expected,  however. 

Outside  in  the  gloom  they  stood,  while  the  leader 
parleyed  within.  Then  doors  swung  open  and  they 
were  invited  in  with  a  "  Steady,  now." 

Some  one  was  at  the  head  showing  rooms,  so  that 
there  was  no  delay  for  keys.  Toiling  up  the  creaky 
stairs,  Hurstwood  looked  back  and  saw  the  captain, 
watching;  the  last  one  of  the  line  being  included  in  his 
broad  solicitude.  Then  he  gathered  his  cloak  about 
him  and  strolled  out  into  the  night. 

"  I  can't  stand  much  of  this,"  said  Hurstwood,  whose 
legs  ached  him  painfully,  as  he  sat  down  upon  the 
miserable  bunk  in  the  small,  lightless  chamber  allotted 
to  him.     "  I've  got  to  eat,  or  I'll  die." 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

\ 

STIRRING  TROUBLED   WATERS 

Playing  in  New  York  one  evening  on  this  her  return, 
Carrie  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  her  toilet 
before  leaving  for  the  night,  when  a  commotion  near 
the  stage  door  caught  her  ear.  It  included  a  familiar 
voice. 

"  Never  mind,  now.     I  want  to  see  Miss  Madenda." 

"  You'll  have  to  send  in  your  card." 

" Oh,  come  off!     Here." 

A  half-dollar  was  passed  over,  and  now  a  knock  came 
at  her  dressing-room  door. 

Carrie  opened  it. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Drouet.  "  I  do  swear !  Why,  how 
are  you  ?     I  knew  that  was  you  the  moment  I  saw  you." 

Carrie  fell  back  a  pace,  expecting  a  most  embarrass- 
ing conversation. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  shake  hands  with  me  ?  Well, 
you're  a  dandy!     That's  all  right,  shake  hands." 

Carrie  put  out  her  hand,  smiling,  if  for  nothing  more 
than  the  man's  exuberant  good-nature.  Though  older, 
he  was  but  slightly  changed.  The  same  fine  clothes,  the 
same  stocky  body,  the  same  rosy  countenance. 

"  That  fellow  at  the  door  there  didn't  want  to  let  me 
in,  until  I  paid  him.  I  knew  it  was  you,  all  right.  Say, 
you've  got  a  great  show.  You  do  your  part  fine.  I 
knew  you  would.  I  just  happened  to  be  passing  to- 
night and  thought  I'd  drop  in  for  a  few  minutes.     I  saw 


SISTER   CARRIE  527 

your  name  on  the  programme,  but  I  didn't  remember 
it  until  you  came  on  the  stage.  Then  it  struck  me  all 
at  once.  Say,  you  could  have  knocked  me  down  with 
a  feather.  That's  the  same  name  you  used  out  there 
in  Chicago,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Carrie,  mildly,  overwhelmed  by 
the  man's  assurance. 

"  I  knew  it  was,  the  moment  I  saw  you.  Well,  how 
have  you  been,  anyhow?" 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Carrie,  lingering  in  her  dress- 
ing-room. She  was  rather  dazed  by  the  assault.  "  How 
have  you  been  ?  " 

"Me?     Oh,  fine.     I'm  here  now." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Yes.  I've  been  here  for  six  months.  I've  got 
charge  of  a  branch  here." 

"  How  nice !  " 

"Well,  when  did  you  go  on  the  stage,  anyhow?" 
inquired  Drouet. 

"  About  three  years  ago,"  said  Carrie. 

"  You  don't  say  so !  Well,  sir,  this  is  the  first  I've 
heard  of  it.  I  knew  you  would,  though.  I  always 
said  you  could  act — didn't  I  ?  " 

Carrie  smiled. 

"  Yes,  you  did,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  you  do  look  great,"  he  said.  "  I  never  saw 
anybody  improve  so.     You're  taller,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"Me?     Oh,  a  little,  maybe." 

He  gazed  at  her  dress,  then  at  her  hair,  where  a  be- 
coming hat  was  set  jauntily,  then  into  her  eyes,  which 
she  took  all  occasion  to  avert.  Evidently  he  expected 
to  restore  their  old  friendship  at  once  and  without 
modification. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  seeing  her  gather  up  her  purse, 
handkerchief,  and  the  like,  preparatory  to  departing, 


528  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  I  want  you  to  come  out  to  dinner  with  me ;  won't  you  ? 
I've  got  a  friend  out  here." 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  said  Carrie.  "  Not  to-night.  I  have 
an  early  engagement  to-morrow." 

"  Aw,  let  the  engagement  go.  Come  on.  I  can  get 
rid  of  him.     I  want  to  have  a  good  talk  with  you." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Carrie ;  "  I  can't.  You  mustn't  ask 
me  any  more.     I  don't  care  for  a  late  dinner." 

"  Well,  come  on  and  have  a  talk,  then,  anyhow." 

"  Not  to-night,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head.  "  We'll 
have  a  talk  some  other  time." 

As  a  result  of  this,  she  noticed  a  shade  of  thought 
pass  over  his  face,  as  if  he  were  beginning  to  realise 
that  things  were  changed.  Good-nature  dictated  some- 
thing better  than  this  for  one  who  had  always  liked  her. 

"  You  come  around  to  the  hotel  to-morrow,"  she  said, 
as  sort  of  penance  for  error.  "  You  can  take  dinner 
with  me." 

"  All  right,"  said  Drouet,  brightening.  "  Where  are 
you  stopping  ?  " 

"At  the  Waldorf,"  she  answered,  mentioning  the 
fashionable  hostelry  then  but  newly  erected. 

"What  time?" 

"  Well,  come  at  three,"  said  Carrie,  pleasantly. 

The  next  day  Drouet  called,  but  it  was  with  no  es- 
pecial delight  that  Carrie  remembered  her  appoint- 
ment. However,  seeing  him,  handsome  as  ever,  after 
his  kind,  and  most  genially  disposed,  her  doubts  as  to 
whether  the  dinner  would  be  disagreeable  were  swept 
away.     He  talked  as  volubly  as  ever. 

"  They  put  on  a  lot  of  lugs  here,  don't  they  ?  "  was 
his  first  remark. 

"  Yes ;  they  do,"  said  Carrie. 

Genial  egotist  that  he  was,  he  went  at  once  into  a 
detailed  account  of  his  own  career. 


SISTER  CARRIE  529 

"  I'm  going  to  have  a  business  of  my  own  pretty 
soon,"  he  observed  in  one  place.  "  I  can  get  backing 
for  two  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

Carrie  listened  most  good-naturedly, 

"  Say,"  he  said,  suddenly ;  "  where  is  Hurstwood 
now?  " 

Carrie  flushed  a  little. 

"  He's  here  in  New  York,  I  guess,"  she  said.  "  I 
haven't  seen  him  for  some  time." 

Drouet  mused  for  a  moment.  He  had  not  been  sure 
until  now  that  the  ex-manager  was  not  an  influential 
figure  in  the  background.  He  imagined  not;  but  this 
assurance  relieved  him.  It  must  be  that  Carrie  had 
got  rid  of  him — as  well  she  ought,  he  thought. 

"  A  man  always  makes  a  mistake  when  he  does  any- 
thing like  that,"  he  observed. 

"Like  what?"  said  Carrie,  unwitting  of  what  was 
coming. 

"  Oh,  you  know,"  and  Drouet  waved  her  intelligence, 
as  it  were,  with  his  hand. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  she  answered.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why  that  affair  in  Chicago — the  time  he  left." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  said 
Carrie.  Could  it  be  he  would  refer  so  rudely  to  Hurst- 
wood's  flight  with  her  ? 

"  Oho !  "  said  Drouet,  incredulously.  "  You  knew 
he  took  ten  thousand  dollars  with  him  when  he  left, 
didn't  you  ?  " 

"  What !  "  said  Carrie.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  he 
stole  money,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Drouet,  puzzled  at  her  tone,  "  you  knew 
that,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Carrie.    "  Of  course  I  didn't." 

"Well,  that's  funny,"  said  Drouet.     "He  did,  you 
know.     It  was  in  all  the  papers." 
34 


530  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  How  much  did  you  say  he  took?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars.  I  heard  he  sent  most  of  it 
back  afterwards,  though." 

Carrie  looked  vacantly  at  the  richly  carpeted  floor. 
A  new  light  was  shining  upon  all  the  years  since 
her  enforced  flight.  She  remembered  now  a  hundred 
things  that  indicated  as  much.  She  also  imagined  that 
he  took  it  on  her  account.  Instead  of  hatred  springing 
up  there  was  a  kind  of  sorrow  generated.  Poor  fellow ! 
What  a  thing  to  have  had  hanging  over  his  head  all  the 
time. 

At  dinner  Drouet,  warmed  up  by  eating  and  drink- 
ing and  softened  in  mood,  fancied  he  was  winning  Car- 
rie to  her  old-time  good-natured  regard  for  him.  He 
began  to  imagine  it  would  not  be  so  difficult  to  enter 
into  her  life  again,  high  as  she  was.  Ah,  what  a  prize! 
he  thought.  How  beautiful,  how  elegant,  how  famous ! 
In  her  theatrical  and  Waldorf  setting,  Carrie  was  to 
him  the  all-desirable. 

"  Do  you  remember  how  nervous  you  were  that  night 
at  the  Avery?  "  he  asked. 

Carrie  smiled  to  think  of  it. 

"  I  never  saw  anybody  do  better  than  you  did  then, 
Cad,"  he  added  ruefully,  as  he  leaned  an  elbow  on  the 
table ;  "  I  thought  you  and  I  were  going  to  get  along  fine 
those  days." 

"  You  mustn't  talk  that  way,"  said  Carrie,  bringing 
in  the  least  touch  of  coldness. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  tell  you " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  rising.  "  Besides,  it's  time  I 
was  getting  ready  for  the  theatre.  I'll  have  to  leave 
you.     Come,  now." 

"  Oh,  stay  a  minute,"  pleaded  Drouet.  "  You've  got 
plenty  of  time." 

"  No,"  said  Carrie,  gently. 


SISTER  CARRIE  53 1 

Reluctantly  Drouet  gave  up  the  bright  table  and 
followed.  He  saw  her  to  the  elevator  and,  standing 
there,  said : 

"  When  do  I  see  you  again?  " 

"  Oh,  some  time,  possibly,"  said  Carrie.  "  I'll  be 
here  all  summer.     Good-night !  " 

The  elevator  door  was  open. 

"  Good-night !  "  said  Drouet,  as  she  rustled  in. 

Then  he  strolled  sadly  down  the  hall,  all  his  old  long- 
ing revived,  because  she  was  now  so  far  off.  The 
merry  frou-frou  of  the  place  spoke  all  of  her.  He 
thought  himself  hardly  dealt  with.  Carrie,  however, 
had  other  thoughts. 

That  night  it  was  that  she  passed  Hurstwood,  wait- 
ing at  the  Casino,  without  observing  him. 

The  next  night,  walking  to  the  theatre,  she  encoun- 
tered him  face  to  face.  He  was  waiting,  more  gaunt 
than  ever,  determined  to  see  her,  if  he  had  to  send  in 
word.  At  first  she  did  not  recognise  the  shabby, 
baggy  figure.  He  frightened  her,  edging  so  close,  a 
seemingly  hungry  stranger. 

"  Carrie,"  he  half  whispered,  "  can  I  have  a  few 
words  with  you  ?  " 

She  turned  and  recognised  him  on  the  instant.  If 
there  ever  had  lurked  any  feeling  in  her  heart  against 
him,  it  deserted  her  now.  Still,  she  remembered  what 
Drouet  said  about  his  having  stolen  the  money. 

"  Why,  George,"  she  said ;  "  what's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"  I've  been  sick,"  he  answered.  "  I've  just  got  out  of 
the  hospital.  For  God's  sake,  let  me  have  a  little  money, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Carrie,  her  lip  trembling  in  a 
strong  effort  to  maintain  her  composure.  "  But  what's 
the  matter  with  you,  anyhow?  " 


532  SISTER  CARRIE 

She  was  opening  her  purse,  and  now  pulled  out  all 
the  bills  in  it — a  five  and  two  twos. 

"  I've  been  sick,  I  told  you,"  he  said,  peevishly,  al- 
most resenting  her  excessive  pity.  It  came  hard  to 
him  to  receive  it  from  such  a  source. 

"  Here,"  she  said.     "  It's  all  I  have  with  me." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered,  softly.  "  I'll  give  it  back 
to  you  some  day." 

Carrie  looked  at  him,  while  pedestrians  stared  at  her. 
She  felt  the  strain  of  publicity.     So  did  Hurstwood. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  what's  the  matter  with 
you  ?  "  she  asked,  hardly  knowing  what  to  do.  "  Where 
are  you  living?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  got  a  room  down  in  the  Bowery,"  he  an- 
swered. "  There's  no  use  trying  to  tell  you  here.  I'm 
all  right  now." 

He  seemed  in  a  way  to  resent  her  kindly  inquiries — 
so  much  better  had  fate  dealt  with  her. 

"  Better  go  on  in,"  he  said.  "  I'm  much  obliged,  but 
I  won't  bother  you  any  more." 

She  tried  to  answer,  but  he  turned  away  and  shuffled 
off  toward  the  east. 

For  days  this  apparition  was  a  drag  on  her  soul  be- 
fore it  began  to  wear  partially  away.  Drouet  called 
again,  but  now  he  was  not  even  seen  by  her.  His 
attentions  seemed  out  of  place. 

"  I'm  out,"  was  her  reply  to  the  boy. 

So  peculiar,  indeed,  was  her  lonely,  self-withdrawing 
temper,  that  she  was  becoming  an  interesting  figure  in 
the  public  eye — she  was  so  quiet  and  reserved. 

Not  long  after  the  management  decided  to  transfer 
the  show  to  London.  A  second  summer  season  did 
not  seem  to  promise  well  here. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  try  subduing  London  ?  " 
asked  her  manager,  one  afternoon. 


SISTER   CARRIE  533 

"  It  might  be  just  the  other  way,"  said  Carrie. 

"  I  think  we'll  go  in  June,"  he  answered. 

In  the  hurry  of  departure,  Hurstwood  was  forgotten. 
Both  he  and  Drouet  were  left  to  discover  that  she  was 
gone.  The  latter  called  once,  and  exclaimed  at  the  news. 
Then  he  stood  in  the  lobby,  chewing  the  ends  of  his 
moustache.  At  last  he  reached  a  conclusion — the  old 
days  had  gone  for  good. 

"  She  isn't  so  much,"  he  said;  but  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
he  did  not  believe  this. 

Hurstwood  shifted  by  curious  means  through  a  long 
summer  and  fall.  A  small  job  as  janitor  of  a  dance 
hall  helped  him  for  a  month.  Begging,  sometimes 
going  hungry,  sometimes  sleeping  in  the  park,  carried 
him  over  more  days.  Resorting  to  those  peculiar 
charities,  several  of  which,  in  the  press  of  hungry 
search,  he  accidentally  stumbled  upon,  did  the  rest. 
Toward  the  dead  of  winter,  Carrie  came  back,  appear- 
ing on  Broadway  in  a  new  play;  but  he  was  not  aware 
of  it.  For  weeks  he  wandered  about  the  city,  begging, 
while  the  fire  sign,  announcing  her  engagement, 
blazed  nightly  upon  the  crowded  street  of  amusements. 
Drouet  saw  it,  but  did  not  venture  in. 

About  this  time  Ames  returned  to  New  York.  He 
had  made  a  little  success  in  the  West,  and  now  opened 
a  laboratory  in  Wooster  Street.  Of  course,  he  encoun- 
tered Carrie  through  Mrs.  Vance;  but  there  was  noth- 
ing responsive  between  them.  He  thought  she  was 
still  united  to  Hurstwood,  until  otherwise  informed. 
Not  knowing  the  facts  then,  he  did  not  profess  to 
understand,  and  refrained  from  comment. 

With  Mrs.  Vance,  he  saw  the  new  play,  and  ex- 
pressed himself  accordingly. 

"  She  ought  not  to  be  in  comedy,"  he  said.  "  I  think 
she  could  do  better  than  that." 


534  SISTER  CARRIE 

One  afternoon  they  met  at  the  Vances'  accidentally, 
and  began  a  very  friendly  conversation.  She  could 
hardly  tell  why  the  one-time  keen  interest  in  him  was 
no  longer  with  her.  Unquestionably,  it  was  because 
at  that  time  he  had  represented  something  which  she 
did  not  have ;  but  this  she  did  not  understand.  Success 
had  given  her  the  momentary  feeling  that  she  was  now 
blessed  with  much  of  which  he  would  approve.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  her  little  newspaper  fame  was  nothing 
at  all  to  him.  He  thought  she  could  have  done  better, 
by  far. 

"  You  didn't  go  into  comedy-drama,  after  all  ?  "  he 
said,  remembering  her  interest  in  that  form  of  art. 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  "  I  haven't,  so  far." 

He  looked  at  her  in  such  a  peculiar  way  that  she 
realised  she  had  failed.  It  moved  her  to  add :  "  I  want 
to,  though." 

"  I  should  think  you  would,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
the  sort  of  disposition  that  would  do  well  in  comedy- 
drama." 

It  surprised  her  that  he  should  speak  of  disposition. 
Was  she,  then,  so  clearly  in  his  mind? 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  should  judge  you  were  rather 
sympathetic  in  your  nature." 

Carrie  smiled  and  coloured  slightly.  He  was  so  in- 
nocently frank  with  her  that  she  drew  nearer  in  friend- 
ship.    The  old  call  of  the  ideal  was  sounding. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  pleased,  nevertheless, 
beyond  all  concealment. 

"  I  saw  your  play,"  he  remarked.     "  It's  very  good." 

"  I'm  glad  you  liked  it." 

"  Very  good,  indeed,"  he  said,  "  for  a  comedy." 

This  is  all  that  was  said  at  the  time,  owing  to  an  in- 
terruption, but  later  they  met  again.     He  was  sitting 


SISTER  CARRIE  535 

in  a  corner  after  dinner,  staring  at  the  floor,  when  Carrie 
came  up  with  another  of  the  guests.  Hard  work  had 
given  his  face  the  look  of  one  who  is  weary.  It  was  not 
for  Carrie  to  know  the  thing  in  it  which  appealed  to  her. 

"All  alone?  "she  said. 

"  I  was  listening  to  the  music." 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,"  said  her  companion,  who 
saw  nothing  in  the  inventor. 

Now  he  looked  up  in  her  face,  for  she  was  standing 
a  moment,  while  he  sat. 

"  Isn't  that  a  pathetic  strain?  "  he  inquired,  listening. 

"  Oh,  very,"  she  returned,  also  catching  it,  now  that 
her  attention  was  called. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  added,  offering  her  the  chair  beside 
him. 

They  listened  a  few  moments  in  silence,  touched  by 
the  same  feeling,  only  hers  reached  her  through  the 
heart.     Music  still  charmed  her  as  in  the  old  days. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is  about  music,"  she  started 
to  say,  moved  by  the  inexplicable  longings  which 
surged  within  her ;  "  but  it  always  makes  me  feel  as  if 
I  wanted  something — I " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied ;  "  I  know  how  you  feel." 

Suddenly  he  turned  to  considering  the  peculiarity 
of  her  disposition,  expressing  her  feelings  so  frankly. 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  melancholy,"  he  said. 

He  thought  a  while,  and  then  went  off  into  a  seem- 
ingly alien  observation  which,  however,  accorded  with 
their  feelings. 

"  The  world  is  full  of  desirable  situations,  but,  un- 
fortunately, we  can  occupy  but  one  at  a  time.  It 
doesn't  do  us  any  good  to  wring  our  hands  over  the  far- 
off  things." 

The  music  ceased  and  he  arose,  taking  a  standing 
position  before  her,  as  if  to  rest  himself. 


536  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Why  don't  you  get  into  some  good,  strong  comedy- 
drama?  "  he  said.  He  was  looking  directly  at  her  now, 
studying  her  face.  Her  large,  sympathetic  eyes  and 
pain-touched  mouth  appealed  to  him  as  proofs  of  his 
judgment. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall,"  she  returned. 

"  That's  your  field,"  he  added. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  I  do.  I  don't  suppose  you're  aware 
of  it,  but  there  is  something  about  your  eyes  and  mouth 
which  fits  you  for  that  sort  of  work." 

Carrie  thrilled  to  be  taken  so  seriously.  For  the 
moment,  loneliness  deserted  her.  Here  was  praise 
which  was  keen  and  analytical. 

"  It's  in  your  eyes  and  mouth,"  he  went  on  abstract- 
edly. "  I  remember  thinking,  the  first  time  I  saw  you, 
that  there  was  something  peculiar  about  your  mouth. 
I  thought  you  were  about  to  cry." 

"  How  odd,"  said  Carrie,  warm  with  delight.  This 
was  what  her  heart  craved. 

"  Then  I  noticed  that  that  was  your  natural  look, 
and  to-night  I  saw  it  again.  There's  a  shadow  about 
your  eyes,  too,  which  gives  your  face  much  this  same 
character.     It's  in  the  depth  of  them,  I  think." 

Carrie  looked  straight  into  his  face,  wholly  aroused. 

"  You  probably  are  not  aware  of  it,"  he  added. 

She  looked  away,  pleased  that  he  should  speak  thus, 
longing  to  be  equal  to  this  feeling  written  upon  her 
countenance.     It  unlocked  the  door  to  a  new  desire. 

She  had  cause  to  ponder  over  this  until  they  met 
again — several  weeks  or  more.  It  showed  her  she  was 
drifting  away  from  the  old  ideal  which  had  filled  her 
in  the  dressing-rooms,  of  the  Avery  stage  and  there- 
after, for  a  long  time.     Why  had  she  lost  it? 

"  I  know  why  you  should  be  a  success,"  he  said,  an- 


SISTER  CARRIE  ,  537 

other  time,  "  if  you  had  a  more  dramatic  part.  I've 
studied  it  out " 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Carrie. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  one  pleased  with  a  puzzle,  "  the 
expression  in  your  face  is  one  that  comes  out  in  dif- 
ferent things.  You  get  the  same  thing  in  a  pathetic 
song,  or  any  picture  which  moves  you  deeply.  It's  a 
thing  the  world  likes  to  see,  because  it's  a  natural  ex- 
pression of  its  longing." 

Carrie  gazed  without  exactly  getting  the  import  of 
what  he  meant. 

"  The  world  is  always  struggling  to  express  itself," 
he  went  on.  "  Most  people  are  not  capable  of  voicing 
their  feelings.  They  depend  upon  others.  That  is 
what  genius  is  for.  One  man  expresses  their  desires 
for  them  in  music ;  another  one  in  poetry ;  another  one 
in  a  play.  Sometimes  nature  does  it  in  a  face — it  makes 
the  face  representative  of  all  desire.  That's  what  has 
happened  in  your  case." 

He  looked  at  her  with  so  much  of  the  import  of  the 
thing  in  his  eyes  that  she  caught  it.  At  least,  she 
got  the  idea  that  her  look  was  something  which  repre- 
sented the  world's  longing.  She  took  it  to  heart  as  a 
creditable  thing,  until  he  added : 

"  That  puts  a  burden  of  duty  on  you.  It  so  happens 
that  you  have  this  thing.  It  is  no  credit  to,you — that 
is,  I  mean,  you  might  not  have  had  it.  You  paid  noth- 
ing to  get  it.  But  now  that  you  have  it,  you  must  do 
something  with  it." 

"What?"  asked  Carrie. 

"  I  should  say,  turn  to  the  dramatic  field.  You  have 
so  much  sympathy  and  such  a  melodious  voice.  Make 
them  valuable  to  others.  It  will  make  your  powers 
endure." 

Carrie  did  not  understand  this  last.     All  the  rest 


538  SISTER  CARRIE 

showed  her  that  her  comedy  success  was  little  or 
nothing. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  just  this.  You  have  this  quality  in  your 
eyes  and  mouth  and  in  your  nature.  You  can  lose  it, 
you  know.  If  you  turn  away  from  it  and  live  to  satisfy 
yourself  alone,  it  will  go  fast  enough.  The  look  will 
leave  your  eyes.  Your  mouth  will  change.  Your' 
power  to  act  will  disappear.  You  may  think  they 
won't,  but  they  will.     Nature  takes  care  of  that." 

He  was  so  interested  in  forwarding  all  good  causes 
that  he  sometimes  became  enthusiastic,  giving  vent  to 
these  preachments.  Something  in  Carrie  appealed  to 
him.     He  wanted  to  stir  her  up. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  absently,  feeling  slightly  guilty 
of  neglect. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  he  said,  "  I'd  change." 

The  effect  of  this  was  like  roiling  helpless  waters. 
Carrie  troubled  over  it  in  her  rocking-chair  for  days. 

"  I  don't  believe  I'll  stay  in  comedy  so  very  much 
longer,"  she  eventually  remarked  to  Lola. 

"  Oh,  why  not?  "  said  the  latter. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,     I  can  do  better  in  a  serious  play." 

"  What  put  that  idea  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  she  answered ;  "  I've  always  thought 
so." 

Still,  she  did  nothing — grieving.  It  was  a  long  way 
to  this  better  thing — or  seemed  so — and  comfort  was 
about  her ;  hence  the  inactivity  and  longing. 


CHAPTER   XLVII 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  BEATEN:  A  HARP  IN  THE  WIND 

In  the  city,  at  that  time,  there  were  a  number  of 
charities  similar  in  nature  to  that  of  the  captain's,  which 
Hurstwood  now  patronised  in  a  like  unfortunate  way. 
One  was  a  convent  mission-house  of  the  Sisters  of 
Mercy  in  Fifteenth  Street — a  row  of  red  brick  family 
dwellings,  before  the  door  of  which  hung  a  plain 
wooden  contribution  box,  on  which  was  painted  the 
statement  that  every  noon  a  meal  was  given  free  to  all 
those  who  might  apply  and  ask  for  aid.  This  simple 
announcement  was  modest  in  the  extreme,  covering, 
as  it  did,  a  charity  so  broad.  Institutions  and  chari- 
ties are  so  large  and  so  numerous  in  NeW  York  that 
such  things  as  this  are  not  often  noticed  by  the  more 
comfortably  situated.  But  to  one  whose  mind  is  upon 
the  matter,  they  grow  exceedingly  under  inspection. 
Unless  one  were  looking  up  this  matter  in  particular, 
he  could  have  stood  at  Sixth  Avenue  and  Fifteenth 
Street  for  days  around  the  noon  hour  and  never  have 
noticed  that  out  of  the  vast  crowd  that  surged  along 
that  busy  thoroughfare  there  turned  out,  every  few 
seconds,  some  weather-beaten,  heavy-footed  specimen 
of  humanity,  gaunt  in  countenance  and  dilapidated  in 
the  matter  of  clothes.  The  fact  is  none  the  less  true, 
however,  and  the  colder  the  da)'  the  more  apparent  it 
became.  Space  and  a  lack  of  culinary  room  in  the 
mission-house,  compelled  an  arrangement  which  per- 


540  SISTER   CARRIE 

mitted  of  only  twenty-five  or  thirty  eating  at  one  time, 
so  that  a  line  had  to  be  formed  outside  and  an  orderly 
entrance  effected.  This  caused  a  daily  spectacle  which, 
however,  had  become  so  common  by  repetition  during 
a  number  of  years  that  now  nothing  was  thought  of  it. 
The  men  waited  patiently,  like  cattle,  in  the  coldest 
weather — waited  for  several  hours  before  they  could 
be  admitted.  No  questions  were  asked  and  no  service 
rendered.  They  ate  and  went  away  again,  some  of 
them  returning  regularly  day  after  day  the  winter 
through. 

A  big,  motherly  looking  woman  invariably  stood  guard 
at  the  door  during  the  entire  operation  and  counted  the 
admissible  number.  The  men  moved  up  in  solemn 
order.  There  was  no  haste  and  no  eagerness  dis- 
played. It  was  almost  a  dumb  procession.  In  the  bit- 
terest weather  this  line  was  to  be  found  here.  Under 
an  icy  wind  there  was  a  prodigious  slapping  of  hands 
and  a  dancing  of  feet.  Fingers  and  the  features  of  the 
face  looked  as  if  severely  nipped  by  the  cold.  A  study 
of  these  men  in,  broad  light  proved  them  to  be  nearly 
all  of  a  type.  They  belonged  to  the  class  that  sit -on 
the  park  benches  during  the  endurable  days  and  sleep 
upon  them  during  the  summer  nights.  They  frequent 
the  Bowery  and  those  down-at-the-heels  East  Side 
streets  where  poor  clothes  and  shrunken  features  are 
not  singled  out  as  curious.  They  are  the  men  who  are 
in  the  lodging-house  sitting-rooms  during  bleak  and 
bitter  weather  and  who  swarm  about  the  cheaper  shel- 
ters which  only  open  at  six  in  a  number  of  the  lower 
East  Side  streets.  Miserable  food,  ill-timed  and  greed- 
ily eaten,  had  played  havoc  with  bone  and  muscle.  They 
were  all  pale,  flabby,  sunken-eyed,  hollow-chested,  with 
eyes  that  glinted  and  shone  and  lips  that  were  a  sickly 
red  by  contrast.    Their  hair  was  but  half  attended  to,  their 


SISTER   CARRIE  541 

ears  anaemic  in  hue,  and  their  shoes  broken  in  leather 
and  run  down  at  heel  and  toe.  They  were  of  the  class 
which  simply  floats  and  drifts,  every  wave  of  people 
washing  up  one,  as  breakers  do  driftwood  upon  a 
stormy  shore. 

For  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century,  in  another  section 
of  the  city,  Fleischmann,  the  baker,  had  given  a  loaf  of 
bread  to  any  one  who  would  come  for  it  to  the  side 
door  of  his  restaurant  at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and 
Tenth  Street,  at  midnight.  Every  night  during  twenty 
years  about  three  hundred  men  had  formed  in  line  and 
at  the  appointed  time  marched  past  the  doorway, 
picked  their  loaf  from  a  great  box  placed  just  outside, 
and  vanished  again  into  the  night.  From  the  begin- 
ning to  the  present  time  there  had  been  little  change  in 
the  character  or  number  of  these  men.  There  were 
two  or  three  figures  that  had  grown  familiar  to  those 
who  had  seen  this  little  procession  pass  year  after  year. 
Two  of  them  had  missed  scarcely  a  night  in  fifteen 
years.  There  were  about  forty,  more  or  less,  regular 
callers.  The  remainder  of  the  line  was  formed  of 
strangers.  In  times  of  panic  and  unusual  hardships 
there  were  seldom  more  than  three  hundred.  In  times 
of  prosperity,  when  little  is  heard  of  the  unemployed, 
there  were  seldom  less.  The  same  number,  winter  and 
summer,  in  storm  or  calm,  in  good  times  and  bad,  held 
this  melancholy  midnight  rendezvous  at  Fleischmann's 
bread  box. 

At  both  of  these  two  charities,  during  the  severe 
winter  which  was  now  on,  Hurstwood  was  a  frequent 
visitor.  On  one  occasion  it  was  peculiarly  cold,  and 
finding  no  comfort  in  begging  about  the  streets,  he 
waited  until  noon  before  seeking  this  free  offering  to 
the  poor.  Already,  at  eleven  o'clock  of  this  morning, 
several  such  as  he  had  shambled  forward  out  of  Sixth 


542  SISTER  CARRIE 

Avenue,  their  thin  clothes  flapping  and  fluttering  in 
the  wind.  They  leaned  against  the  iron  railing  which 
protects  the  walls  of  the  Ninth  Regiment  Armory, 
which  fronts  upon  that  section  of  Fifteenth  Street,  hav- 
ing come  early  in  order  to  be  first  in.  Having  an  hour  to 
wait,  they  at  first  lingered  at  a  respectful  distance;  but 
others  coming  up,  they  moved  closer  in  order  to  protect 
their  right  of  precedence.  To  this  collection  Hurstwood 
came  up  from  the  west  out  of  Seventh  Avenue  and 
stopped  close  to  the  door,  nearer  than  all  the  others. 
Those  who  had  been  waitingbefore  him,  but  farther  away, 
now  drew  near,  and  by  a  certain  stolidity  of  demeanour, 
no  words  being  spoken,  indicated  that  they  were  first. 

Seeing  the  opposition  to  his  action,  he  looked  sullenly 
along  the  line,  then  moved  out,  taking  his  place  at  the 
foot.  When  order  had  been  restored,  the  animal  feel- 
ing of  opposition  relaxed. 

"  Must  be  pretty  near  noon,"  ventured  one. 

"  It  is,"  said  another.  "  I've  been  waiting  nearly  an 
hour." 

"  Gee,  but  it's  cold !  " 

They  peered  eagerly  at  the  door,  where  all  must 
enter.  A  grocery  man  drove  up  and  carried  in  several 
baskets  of  eatables.  This  started  some  words  upon 
grocery  men  and  the  cost  of  food  in  general. 

"  I  see  meat's  gone  up,"  said  one. 

"  If  there  wuz  war,  it  would  help  this  country  a  lot." 

The  line  was  growing  rapidly.  Already  there  were 
fifty  or  more,  and  those  at  the  head,  by  their  de- 
meanour, evidently  congratulated  themselves  upon  not 
having  so  long  to  wait  as  those  at  the  foot.  There  was 
much  jerking  of  heads,  and  looking  down  the  line. 

"  It  don't  matter  how  near  you  get  to  the  front,  so 
long  as  you're  in  the  first  twenty-five,"  commented  one 
of  the  first  twenty-five,    "  You  all  go  in  together." 


SISTER  CARRIE  543 

"  Humph !  "  ejaculated  Hurstwood,  who  had  been  so 
sturdily  displaced. 

"  This  here  Single  Tax  is  the  thing,"  said  another. 
"  There  ain't  going  to  be  no  order  till  it  comes." 

For  the  most  part  there  was  silence ;  gaunt  men  shuf- 
fling, glancing,  and  beating  their  arms. 

At  last  the  door  opened  and  the  motherly-looking  sis- 
ter appeared.  She  only  looked  an  order.  Slowly  the 
line  moved  up  and,  one  by  one,  passed  in,  until  twenty- 
five  were  counted.  Then  she  interposed  a  stout  arm,  and 
the  line  halted,  with  six  men  on  the  steps.  Of  these  the 
ex-manager  was  one.  Waiting  thus,  some  talked,  some 
ejaculated  concerning  the  misery  of  it;  some  brooded, 
as  did  Hurstwood.  At  last  he  was  admitted,  and,  hav- 
ing eaten,  came  away,  almost  angered  because  of  his 
pains  in  getting  it. 

At  eleven  o'clock  of  another  evening,  perhaps  two 
weeks  later,  he  was  at  the  midnight  offering  of  a  loaf — 
waiting  patiently.  It  had  been  an  unfortunate  day 
with  him,  but  now  he  took  his  fate  with  a  touch  of 
philosophy.  If  he  could  secure  no  supper,  or  was 
hungry  late  in  the  evening,  here  was  a  place  he  could- 
come.  A  few  minutes  before  twelve,  a  great  box  of 
bread  was  pushed  out,  and  exactly  on  the  hour  a  portly, 
round-faced  German  took  position  by  it,  calling 
"  Ready."  The  whole  line  at  once  moved  forward, 
each  taking  his  loaf  in  turn  and  going  his  separate  way. 
On  this  occasion,  the  ex-manager  ate  his  as  he  went, 
plodding  the  dark  streets  in  silence  to  his  bed. 

By  January  he  had  about  concluded  that  the  game 
was  up  with  him.  Life  had  always  seemed  a  precious 
thing,  but  now  constant  want  and  weakened  vitality 
had  made  the  charms  of  earth  rather  dull  and  incon- 
spicuous. Several  times,  when  fortune  pressed  most 
harshly,  he  thought  lie  would  end  his  troubles ;  but  with 


544  SISTER  CARRIE 

a  change  of  weather,  or  the  arrival  of  a  quarter  or  a 
dime,  his  mood  would  change,  and  he  would  wait. 
Each  day  he  would  find  some  old  paper  lying  about 
and  look  into  it,  to  see  if  there  was  any  trace  of  Carrie, 
but  all  summer  and  fall  he  had  looked  in  vain.  Then 
he  noticed  that  his  eyes  were  beginning  to  hurt  him, 
and  this  ailment  rapidly  increased  until,  in  the  dark 
chambers  of  the  lodgings  he  frequented,  he  did  not 
attempt  to  read.  Bad  and  irregular  eating  was  weaken- 
ing every  function  of  his  body.  The  one  recourse  left  him 
was  to  doze  when  a  place  offered  and  he  could  get  the 
money  to  occupy  it. 

He  was  beginning  to  find,  in  his  wretched  clothing 
and  meagre  state  of  body,  that  people  took  him  for  a 
chronic  type  of  bum  and  beggar.  Police  hustled  him 
along,  restaurant  and  lodging-house  keepers  turned 
him  out  promptly  the  moment  he  had  his  due;  pedes- 
trians waved  him  off.  He  found  it  more  and  more 
difficult  to  get  anything  from  anybody. 

At  last  he  admitted  to  himself  that  the  game  was  up. 
It  was  after  a  long  series  of  appeals  to  pedestrians,  in 
which  he  had  been  refused  and  refused — every  one 
hastening  from  contact. 

"  Give  me  a  little  something,  will  you,  mister  ?  "  he 
said  to  the  last  one.  "  For  God's  sake,  do ;  I'm 
starving." 

"  Aw,  get  out,"  said  the  man,  who  happened  to  be  a 
common  type  himself.  "  You're  no  good.  I'll  give  you 
nawthin'." 

Hurstwood  put  his  hands,  red  from  cold,  down  in  his 
pockets.     Tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  no  good  now.  I  was 
all  right.  I  had  money.  I'm  going  to  quit  this,"  and, 
with  death  in  his  heart,  he  started  down  toward  the 
Bowery.     People  had  turned  on  the  gas  before  and  died ; 


SISTER  CARRIE  545 

why  shouldn't  he?  He  remembered  a  lodging-house 
where  there  were  little,  close  rooms,  with  gas-jets  in 
them,  almost  pre-arranged,  he  thought,  for  what  he 
wanted  to  do,  which  rented  for  fifteen  cents.  Then  he 
remembered  that  he  had  no  fifteen  cents. 

On  the  way  he  met  a  comfortable-looking  gentleman, 
coming,  clean-shaven,  out  of  a  fine  barber  shop. 

"Would  you  mind  giving  me  a  little  something?" 
he  asked  this  man  boldly. 

The  gentleman  looked  him  over  and  fished  for  a  dime. 
Nothing  but  quarters  were  in  his  pocket. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  handing  him  one,  to  be  rid  of  him. 
"  Be  off,  now." 

Hurstwood  moved  on,  wondering.  The  sight  of  the 
large,  bright  coin  pleased  him  a  little.  He  remembered 
that  he  was  hungry  and  that  he  could  get  a  bed  for  ten 
cents.  With  this,  the  idea  of  death  passed,  for  the 
time  being,  out  of  his  mind.  It  was  only  when  he 
could  get  nothing  but  insults  that  death  seemed  worth 
while. 

One  day,  in  the  middle  of  the  winter,  the  sharpest 
spell  of  the  season  set  in.  It  broke  grey  and  cold  in  the 
first  day,  and  on  the  second  snowed.  Poor  luck  pursu- 
ing him,  he  had  secured  but  ten  cents  by  nightfall,  and 
this  he  had  spent  for  food.  At  evening  he  found  him- 
self at  the  Boulevard  and  Sixty-seventh  Street,  where 
he  finally  turned  his  face  Bowery-ward.  Especially 
fatigued  because  of  the  wandering  propensity  which 
had  seized  him  in  the  morning,  he  now  half  dragged 
his  wet  feet,  shuffling  the  soles  upon  the  sidewalk.  An 
old,  thin  coat  was  turned  up  about  his  red  ears — his 
cracked  derby  hat  was  pulled  down  until  it  turned  them 
outward.     His  hands  were  in  his  pockets. 

"  I'll  just  go  down  Broadway,"  he  said  to  himself. 

When  he  reached  Forty-second  Street,  the  fire  signs 

35 


546  SISTER  CARRIE 

were  already  blazing  brightly.  Crowds  were  hastening 
to  dine.  Through  bright  windows,  at  every  corner, 
might  be  seen  gay  companies  in  luxuriant  restaurants. 
There  were  coaches  and  crowded  cable  cars. 

In  his  weary  and  hungry  state,  he  should  never  have 
come  here.  The  contrast  was  too  sharp.  Even  he  was 
recalled  keenly  to  better  things. 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  he  thought.  "  It's  all  up  with 
me.     I'll  quit  this." 

People  turned  to  look  after  him,  so  uncouth  was  his 
shambling  figure.  Several  officers  followed  him  with 
their  eyes,  to  see  that  he  did  not  beg  of  anybody. 

Once  he  paused  in  an  aimless,  incoherent  sort  of  way 
and  looked  through  the  windows  of  an  imposing  res- 
taurant, before  which  blazed  a  fire  sign,  and  through 
the  large,  plate  windows  of  which  could  be  seen  the 
red  and  gold  decorations,  the  palms,  the  white  napery, 
and  shining  glassware,  and,  above  all,  the  comfortable 
crowd.  Weak  as  his  mind  had  become,  his  hunger 
was  sharp  enough  to  show  the  importance  of  this.  He 
stopped  stock  still,  his  frayed  trousers  soaking  in  the 
slush,  and  peered  foolishly  in. 

"  Eat,"  he  mumbled.  "  That's  right,  eat.  Nobody 
else  wants  any." 

Then  his  voice  dropped  even  lower,  and  his  mind  half 
lost  the  fancy  it  had. 

"  It's  mighty  cold,"  he  said.     "  Awful  cold." 

At  Broadway  and  Thirty-ninth  Street  was  blazing, 
in  incandescent  fire,  Carrie's  name.  "  Carrie  Ma- 
denda,"  it  read,  "and  the  Casino  Company."  All  the 
wet,  snowy  sidewalk  was  bright  with  this  radiated  fire. 
It  was  so  bright  that  it  attracted  Hurstwood's  gaze. 
He  looked  up,  and  then  at  a  large,  gilt-framed  poster- 
board,  on  which  was  a  fine  lithograph  of  Carrie,  life- 
size. 


SISTER   CARRIE  547 

Hurstwood  gazed  at  it  a  moment,  snuffling  and 
hunching  one  shoulder,  as  if  something  were  scratching 
him.  He  was  so  run  down,  however,  that  his  mind  was 
not  exactly  clear. 

"  That's  you,"  he  said  at  last,  addressing  her. 
"Wasn't  good- enough  for  you,  was  I?     Huh!" 

He  lingered,  trying  to  think  logically.  This  was  no 
longer  possible  with  him. 

"  She's  got  it,"  he  said,  incoherently,  thinking  of 
money.     "  Let  her  give  me  some." 

He  started  around  to  the  side  door.  Then  he  forgot 
what  he  was  going  for  and  paused,  pushing  his  hands 
deeper  to  warm  the  wrists.  Suddenly  it  returned. 
The  stage  door !     That  was  it. 

He  approached  that  entrance  and  went  in. 

"Well?"  said  the  attendant,  staring  at  him.  See- 
ing him  pause,  he  went  over  and  shoved  him.  "  Get 
out  of  here,"  he  said. 

"  I  want  to  see  Miss  Madenda,"  he  said. 

"  You  do,  eh?  "  the  other  said,  almost  tickled  at  the 
spectacle.  "  Get  out  of  here,"  and  he  shoved  him 
again.     Hurstwood  had  no  strength  to  resist. 

"  I  want  to  see  Miss  Madenda,"  he  tried  to  explain, 
even  as  he  was  being  hustled  away.  "  I'm  all  right. 
I " 

The  man  gave  him  a  last  push  and  closed  the  door. 
As  he  did  so,  Hurstwood  slipped  and  fell  in  the  snow. 
It  hurt  him,  and  some  vague  sense  of  shame  returned. 
He  began  to  cry  and  swear  foolishly. 

"  God  damned  dog!  "  he  said.  "  Damned  old  cur," 
wiping  the  slush  from  his  worthless  coat.  "  I — I  hired 
such  people  as  you  once." 

Now  a  fierce  feeling  against  Carrie  welled  up — just 
one  fierce,  angry  thought  before  the  whole  thing 
slipped  out  of  his  mind. 


548  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  She  owes  me  something  to  eat,"  he  said.  "  She 
owes  it  to  me." 

Hopelessly  he  turned  back  into  Broadway  again  and 
slopped  onward  and  away,  begging,  crying,  losing 
track  of  his  thoughts,  one  after  another,  as  a  mind  de- 
cayed and  disjointed  is  wont  to  do. 

It  was  truly  a  wintry  evening,  a  few  days  later,  when 
his  one  distinct  mental  decision  was  reached.  Already, 
at  four  o'clock,  the  sombre  hue  of  night  was  thickening 
the  air.  A  heavy  snow  was  falling — a  fine  picking, 
whipping  snow,  borne  forward  by  a  swift  wind  in  long, 
thin  lines.  The  streets  were  bedded  with  it — six  inches 
of  cold,  soft  carpet,  churned  to  a  dirty  brown  by  the 
crush  of  teams  and  the  feet  of  men.  Along  Broadway 
men  picked  their  way  in  ulsters  and  umbrellas.  Along 
the  Bowery,  men  slouched  through  it  with  collars  and 
hats  pulled  over  their  ears.  In  the  former  thorough- 
fare business  men  and  travellers  were  making  for  com- 
fortable hotels.  In  the  latter,  crowds  on  cold  errands 
shifted  past  dingy  stores,  in  the  deep  recesses  of  which 
lights  were  already  gleaming.  There  were  early  lights 
in  the  cable  cars,  whose  usual  clatter  was  reduced  by 
the  mantle  about  the  wheels.  The  whole  city  was  muf- 
fled by  this  fast-thickening  mantle. 

In  her  comfortable  chambers  at  the  Waldorf,  Carrie 
was  reading  at  this  time  "  Pere  Goriot,"  which  Ames  had 
recommended  to  her.  It  was  so  strong,  and  Ames's 
mere  recommendation  had  so  aroused  her  interest,  that 
she  caught  nearly  the  full  sympathetic  significance  of 
it.  For  the  first  time,  it  was  being  borne  in  upon  her 
how  silly  and  worthless  had  been  her  earlier  reading, 
as  a  whole.  Becoming  wearied,  however,  she  yawned 
and  came  to  the  window,  looking  out  upon  the  old 
winding  procession  of  carriages  rolling  up  Fifth 
Avenue. 


SISTER   CARRIE  549 

"  Isn't  it  bad  ?  "  she  observed  to  Lola. 

"  Terrible  !  "  said  that  little  lady,  joining  her.  "  I 
hope  it  snows  enough  to  go  sleigh  riding." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Carrie,  with  whom  the  sufferings 
of  Father  Goriot  were  still  keen.  "  That's  all  you  think 
of.  Aren't  you  sorry  for  the  people  who  haven't  any- 
thing to-night  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  said  Lola ;  "  but  what  can  I  do  ? 
I  haven't  anything." 

Carrie  smiled. 

"  You  wouldn't  care,  if  you  had,"  she  returned. 

"  I  would,  too,"  said  Lola.  "  But  people  never  gave 
me  anything  when  I  was  hard  up." 

"  Isn't  it  just  awful?  "  said  Carrie,  studying  the  win- 
ter's storm.  ' 

"  Look  at  that  man  over  there,"  laughed  Lola,  who 
had  caught  sight  of  some  one  falling  down.  "  How 
sheepish  men  look  when  they  fall,  don't  they?" 

"  We'll  have  to  take  a  coach  to-night,"  answered 
Carrie,  absently. 

In  the  lobby  of  the  Imperial,  Mr.  Charles  Drouet  was 
just  arriving,  shaking  the  snow  from  a  very  handsome 
ulster.  Bad  weather  had  driven  him  home  early  and 
stirred  his  desire  for  those  pleasures  which  shut  out  the 
snow  and  gloom  of  life.  A  good  dinner,  the  company 
of  a  young  woman,  and  an  evening  at  the  theatre  were 
the  chief  things  for  him. 
f  "  Why,  hello,  Harry !  "  he  said,  addressing  a  lounger 
in  one  of  the  comfortable  lobby  chairs.  "  How  are 
\    you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  about  six  and  six,"  said  the  other. 

"  Rotten  weather,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  say,"  said  the  other.  "  I've  been 
just  sitting  here  thinking  where  I'd  go  to-night." 


550  SISTER  CARRIE 

"  Come  along  with  me,"  said  Drouet.  "  I  can  intro- 
duce you  to  something  dead  swell." 

"Who  is  it?"  said  the  other. 

"  Oh,  a  couple  of  girls  over  here  in  Fortieth  Street. 
We  could  have  a  dandy  time.  I  was  just  looking  for 
you." 

"  Supposing  we  get  'em  and  take  'em  out  to  dinner?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Drouet.  et  Wait'll  I  go  upstairs  and 
change  my  clothes." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  in  the  barber  shop,"  said  the  other. 
"  I  want  to  get  a  shave." 

"  All  right,"  said  Drouet,  creaking  off  in  his  good 
shoes  toward  the  elevator.  The  old  butterfly  was  as 
light  on  the  wing  as  ever. 

On  an  incoming  vestibuled  Pullman,  speeding  at  forty 
miles  an  hour  through  the  snow  of  the  evening,  were 
three  others,  all  related. 

"  First  call  for  dinner  in  the  dining-car,"  a  Pullman 
servitor  was  announcing,  as  he  hastened  through  the 
aisle  in  snow-white  apron  and  jacket. 

"i  don't  believe  I  want  to  play  any  more,"  said  the 
youngest,  a  black-haired  beauty,  turned  supercilious  by 
fortune,  as  she  pushed  a  euchre  hand  away  from  her. 

"Shall  we  go  into  dinner?"  inquired  her  husband, 
who  was  all  that  fine  raiment  can  make. 

"  Oh,  not  yet,"  she  answered.  "  I  don't  want  to  play 
any  more,  though." 

"  Jessica,"  said  her  mother,  who  was  also  a  study  in 
what  good  clothing  can  do  for  age,  "  push  that  pin  down 
in  your  tie — it's  coming  up." 

Jessica  obeyed,  incidentally  touching  at  her  lovely 
hair  and  looking  at  a  little  jewel-faced  watch.  Her 
husband  studied  her,  for  beauty,  even  cold,  is  fascinat- 
ing from  one  point  of  view. 


SISTER  CARRIE  55 1 

"  Well,  we  won't  have  much  more  of  this  weather," 
he  said.     "  It  only  takes  two  weeks  to  get  to  Rome." 

Mrs.  Hurstwood  nestled  comfortably  in  her  corner 
and  smiled.  It  was  so  nice  to  be  the  mother-in-law  of  a 
rich  young  man — one  whose  financial  state  had  borne 
her  personal  inspection. 

"Do  you  suppose  the  boat  will  sail  promptly?" 
asked  Jessica,  "  if  it  keeps  up  like  this?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  her  husband.  "  This  won't 
make  any  difference." 

Passing  down  the  aisle  came  a  very  fair-haired  ban- 
ker's son,  also  of  Chicago,  who  had  long  eyed  this 
supercilious  beauty.  Even  now  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
glance  at  her,  and  she  was  conscious  of  it.  With  a 
specially  conjured  show  of  indifference,  she  turned  her 
pretty  face  wholly  away.  It  was  not  wifely  modesty 
at  all.     By  so  much  was  her  pride  satisfied. 

At  this  moment  Hurstwood  stood  before  a  dirty  four- 
story  building  in  a  side  street  quite  near  the  Bowery, 
whose  one-time  coat  of  buff  had  been  changed  by  soot 
and  rain.  He  mingled  with  a  crowd  of  men — a  crowd 
which  had  been,  and  was  still,  gathering  by  degrees. 

It  began  with  the  approach  of  two  or  three,  who  hung 
about  the  closed  wooden  doors  and  beat  their  feet  to 
keep  them  warm.  They  had  on  faded  derby  hats  with 
dents  in  them.  Their  misfit  coats  were  heavy  with 
melted  snow  and  turned  up  at  the  collars.  Their  trou- 
sers were  mere  bags,  frayed  at  the  bottom  and  wob- 
bling over  big,  soppy  shoes,  torn  at  the  sides  and  worn 
almost  to  shreds.  They  made  no  effort  to  go  in,  but 
shifted  ruefully  about,  digging  their  hands  deep  in  their 
pockets  and  leering  at  the  crowd  and  the  increasing 
lamps.  With  the  minutes,  increased  the  number.  There 
were  old  men  with  grizzled  beards  and  sunken  eyes, 


552  SISTER  CARRIE 

men  who  were  comparatively  young  but  shrunken 
by  diseases,  men  who  were  middle-aged.  None  were 
fat.  There  was  a  face  in  the  thick  of  the  collection 
which  was  as  white  as  drained  veal.  There  was  an- 
other red  as  brick.  Some  came  with  thin,  rounded 
shoulders,  others  with  wooden  legs,  still  others  with 
frames  so  lean  that  clothes  only  flapped  about  them. 
There  were  great  ears,  swollen  noses,  thick  lips,  and, 
above  all,  red,  blood-shot  eyes.  Not  a  normal,  healthy 
face  in  the  wkole  mass;  not  a  straight  figure;  not  a 
straightforward,  steady  glance. 

In  the  drive  of  the  wind  and  sleet  they  pushed  in  on 
one  another.  There  were  wrists,  unprotected  by  coat 
or  pocket,  which  were  red  with  cold.  There  were  ears, 
half  covered  by  every  conceivable  semblance  of  a  hat, 
which  still  looked  stiff  and  bitten.  In  the  snow  they 
shifted,  now  one  foot,  now  another,  almost  rocking  in 
unison. 

With  the  growth  of  the  crowd  about  the  door  came 
a  murmur.  It  was  not  conversation,  but  a  running 
comment  directed  at  any  one  in  general.  It  contained 
oaths  and  slang  phrases. 

"  By  damn,  I  wish  they'd  hurry  up." 

"  Look  at  the  copper  watchin'." 

"  Maybe  it  ain't  winter,  nuther !  " 

"  I  wisht  I  was  in  Sing  Sing." 

Now  a  sharper  lash  of  wind  cut  down  and  they  hud- 
dled closer.  It  was  an  edging,  shifting,  pushing 
throng.  There  was  no  anger,  no  pleading,  no  threat- 
ening words.  It  was  all  sullen  endurance,  unlightened 
by  either  wit  or  good  fellowship. 

A  carriage  went  jingling  by  with  some  reclining 
figure  in  it.     One  of  the  men  nearest  the  door  saw  it. 

f*  Look  at  the  bloke  ridin'." 

"  He  ain't  so  cold." 


SISTER  CARRIE  553 

"  Eh,  eh,  eh !  "  yelled  another,  the  carriage  having 
long  since  passed  out  of  hearing. 

Little  by  little  the  night  crept  on.  Along  the  walk 
a  crowd  turned  out  on  its  way  home.  Men  and  shop- 
girls went  by  with  quick  steps.  The  cross-town  cars 
began  to  be  crowded.  The  gas  lamps  were  blazing, 
and  every  window  bloomed  ruddy  with  a  steady  flame. 
Still  the  crowd  hung  about  the  door,  unwavering. 

"  Ain't  they  ever  goin'  to  open  up  ?  "  queried  a  hoarse 
voice,  suggestively. 

This  seemed  to  renew  the  general  interest  in  the 
closed  door,  and  many  gazed  in  that  direction.  They 
looked  at  it  as  dumb  brutes  look,  as  dogs  paw  and 
whine  and  study  the  knob.  They  shifted  and  blinked 
and  muttered,  now  a  curse,  now  a  comment.  Still 
they  waited  and  still  the  snow  whirled  and  cut  them 
with  biting  flakes.  On  the  old  hats  and  peaked  shoul- 
ders it  was  piling.  It  gathered  in  little  heaps  and  curves 
and  no  one  brushed  it  off.  In  the  centre  of  the  crowd 
the  warmth  and  steam  melted  it,  and  water  trickled  off 
hat  rims  and  down  noses,  which  the  owners  could  not 
reach  to  scratch.  On  the  outer  rim  the  piles  remained 
unmelted.  Hurstwood,  who  could  not  get  in  the  centre, 
stood  with  head  lowered  to  the  weather  and  bent  his 
form. 

A  light  appeared  through  the  transom  overhead.  It 
sent  a  thrill  of  possibility  through  the  watchers.  There 
was  a  murmur  of  recognition.  At  last  the  bars  grated 
inside  and  the  crowd  pricked  up  its  ears.  Footsteps  shuf- 
fled within  and  it  murmured  again.  Some  one  called : 
"  Slow  up  there,  now,"  and  then  the  door  opened.  It 
was  push  and  jam  for  a  minute,  with  grim,  beast  silence 
to  prove  its  quality,  and  then  it  melted  inward,  like 
logs  floating,  and  disappeared.  There  were  wet  hats 
and  wet  shoulders,  a  cold,  shrunken,  disgruntled  mass, 


554  SISTER  CARRIE 

pouring  in  between  bleak  walls.  It  was  just  six  o'clock 
and  there  was  supper  in  every  hurrying  pedestrian's 
face.  And  yet  no  supper  was  provided  here — nothing 
but  beds. 

Hurstwood  laid  down  his  fifteen  cents  and  crept  off 
with  weary  steps  to  his  allotted  room.  It  was  a  dingy 
affair — wooden,  dusty,  hard.  A  small  gas-jet  fur- 
nished sufficient  light  for  so  rueful  a  corner. 

"  Hm !  "  he  said,  clearing  his  throat  and  locking  the 
door. 

Now  he  began  leisurely  to  take  off  his  clothes,  but 
stopped  first  with  his  coat,  and  tucked  it  along  the 
crack  under  the  door.  His  vest  he  arranged  in  the 
same  place.  His  old  wet,  cracked  hat  he  laid  softly 
upon  the  table.  Then  he  pulled  off  his  shoes  and  lay 
down. 

It  seemed  as  if  he  thought  a  while,  for  now  he  arose 
and  turned  the  gas  out,  standing  calmly  in  the  black- 
ness, hidden  from  view.  After  a  few  moments,  in  which 
he  reviewed  nothing,  but  merely  hesitated,  he  turned 
the  gas  on  again,  but  applied  no  match.  Even  then 
he  stood  there,  hidden  wholly  in  that  kindness  which 
is  night,  while  the  uprising  fumes  filled  the  room. 
When  the  odour  reached  his  nostrils,  he  quit  his  atti- 
tude and  fumbled  for  the  bed. 

"What's  the  use?"  he  said,  weakly,  as  he  stretched 
himself  to  rest. 

And  now  Carrie  had  attained  that  which  in  the  be- 
ginning semed  life's  object,  or,  at  least,  such  fraction  of 
it  as  human  beings  ever  attain  of  their  original  desires. 
She  could  look  about  on  her  gowns  and  carriage,  her 
furniture  and  bank  account.  Friends  there  were,  as 
the  world  takes  it — those  who  would  bow  and  smile  in 
acknowledgment  of  her  success.      For  these   she  had 


SISTER  CARRIE  555 

once  craved.  Applause  there  was,  and  publicity — once 
far  off,  essential  things,  but  now  grown  trivial  and  in- 
different. Beauty  also — her  type  of  loveliness — and 
yet  she  was  lonely.  In  her  rocking-chair  she  sat,  when 
not  otherwise  engaged — singing  and  dreaming. 

Thus  in  life  there  is  ever  the  intellectual  and  the 
emotional  nature — the  mind  that  reasons,  and  the 
mind  that  feels.  Of  one  come  the  men  of  action — gen- 
erals and  statesmen;  of  the  other,  the  poets  and  dream- 
ers— artists  all. 

As  harps  in  the  wind,  the  latter  respond  to  every 
breath  of  fancy,  voicing  in  their  moods  all  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  ideal. 

Man  has  not  yet  comprehended  the  dreamer  any 
more  than  he  has  the  ideal.  For  him  the  laws  and 
morals  of  the  world  are  unduly  severe.  Ever  hearken- 
ing to  the  sound  of  beauty,  straining  for  the  flash  of  its 
distant  wings,  he  watches  to  follow,  wearying  his  feet 
in  travelling.  So  watched  Carrie,  so  followed,  rocking 
and  singing. 

And  it  must  be  remembered  that  reason  had  little 
part  in  this.  Chicago  dawning,  she  saw  the  city  offer- 
ing more  of  loveliness  than  she  had  ever  known,  and 
instinctively,  by  force  of  her  moods  alone,  clung  to  it. 
In  fine  raiment  and  elegant  surroundings,  men  seemed 
to  be  contented.  Hence,  she  drew  near  these  things. 
Chicago,  New  York;  Drouet,  Hurstwood;  the  world 
of  fashion  and  the  world  of  stage — these  were  but  in- 
cidents. Not  them,  but  that  which  they  represented, 
she  longed  for.     Time  proved  the  representation  false. 

Oh,  the  tangle  of  human  life !  How  dimly  as  yet 
we  see.  Here  was  Carrie,  in  the  beginning  poor,  un- 
sophisticated, emotional ;  responding  with  desire  to 
everything  most  lovely  in  life,  yet  finding  herself 
turned  as  by  a  wall.     Laws  to  say :  "  Be  allured,  if  you 


556  SISTER    CARRIE 

will,  by  everything  lovely,  but  draw  not  nigh  unless  by 
righteousness."  Convention  to  say :  "  You  shall  not 
better  your  situation  save  by  honest  labour."  If  honest 
labour  be  unremunerative  and  difficult  to  endure;  if  it 
be  the  long,  long  road  which  never  reaches  beauty,  but 
wearies  the  feet  and  the  heart;  if  the  drag  to  follow 
beauty  be  such  that  one  abandons  the  admired  way, 
taking  rather  the  despised  path  leading  to  her  dreams 
quickly,  who  shall  cast  the  first  stone?  Not  evil,  but 
longing  for  that  which  is  better,  more  often  directs  the 
steps  of  the  erring.  Not  evil,  but  goodness  more  often 
allures  the  feeling  mind  unused  to  reason. 

Amid  the  tinsel  and  shine  of  her  state  walked  Carrie, 
unhappy.  As  when  Drouet  took  her,  she  had  thought : 
"  Now  am  I  lifted  into  that  which  is  best " ;  as  when 
Hurstwood  seemingly  offered  her  the  better  way: 
"  Now  am  I  happy."  But  since  the  world  goes  its  way 
past  all  who  will  not  partake  of  its  folly,  she  now  found 
herself  alone.  Her  purse  was  open  to  him  whose  need 
was  greatest.  In  her  walks  on  Broadway,  she  no 
longer  thought  of  the  elegance  of  the  creatures  who 
passed  her.  Had  they  more  of  that  peace  and  beauty 
which  glimmered  afar  off,  then  were  they  to  be  envied. 

Drouet  abandoned  his  claim  and  was  seen  no  more. 
Of  Hurstwood's  death  she  was  not  even  aware.  A 
slow,  black  boat  setting  out  from  the  pier  at  Twenty- 
seventh  Street  upon  its  weekly  errand  bore,  with  many 
others,  his  nameless  body  to  the  Potter's  Field. 

Thus  passed  all  that  was  of  interest  concerning  these 
twain  in  their  relation  to  her.  Their  influence  upon 
her  life  is  explicable  alone  by  the  nature  of  her  long- 
ings. Time  was  when  both  represented  for  her  all  that 
was  most  potent  in  earthly  success.  They  were  the 
personal  representatives  of  a  state  most  blessed  to  at- 
tain— the   titled   ambassadors   of  comfort  and   peace, 


SISTER    CARRIE  557 

aglow  with  their  credentials.  It  is  but  natural  that 
when  the  world  which  they  represented  no  longer  al- 
lured her,  its  ambassadors  should  be  discredited. 
Even  had  Hurstwood  returned  in  his  original  beauty 
and  glory,  he  could  not  now  have  allured  her.  She  had 
learned  that  in  his  world,  as  in  her  own  present  state, 
was  not  happiness. 

Sitting  alone,  she  was  now  an  illustration  of  the 
devious  ways  by  which  one  who  feels,  rather  than  rea- 
sons, may  be  led  in  the  pursuit  of  beauty.  Though 
often  disillusioned,  she  was  still  waiting  for  that  hal- 
cyon day  when  she  should  be  led  forth  among  dreams 
become  real.  Ames  had  pointed  out  a  farther  step,  but 
on  and  on  beyond  that,  if  accomplished,  would  lie 
others  for  her.  It  was  forever  to  be  the  pursuit  of 
that  radiance  of  delight  which  tints  the  distant  hill- 
tops of  the  world. 

Oh,  Carrie,  Carrie!  Oh,  blind  strivings  of  the 
human  heart!  Onward,  onward,  it  saith,  and  where 
beauty  leads,  there  it  follows.  Whether  it  be  the  tinkle 
of  a  lone  sheep  bell  o'er  some  quiet  landscape,  or  the 
glimmer  of  beauty  in  sylvan  places,  or  the  show  of  soul 
in  some  passing  eye,  the  heart  knows  and  makes  an- 
swer, following.  It  is  when  the  feet  weary  and  hope 
seems  vain  that  the  heartaches  and  the  longings  arise. 
Know,  then,  that  for  you  is  neither  surfeit  nor  content. 
In  your  rocking-chair,  by  your  window  dreaming,  shall 
you  long,  alone.  In  your  rocking-chair,  by  your  win- 
dow, shall  you  dream  such  happiness  as  you  may  never 
feel. 

THE    END 


